


Something I need

by thatsthefrailtyofgenius



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: BAMF!Stiles, M/M, Magic!Stiles, Werewolf!Stiles, sterek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-06
Updated: 2014-07-23
Packaged: 2017-12-14 03:49:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 88,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/832365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatsthefrailtyofgenius/pseuds/thatsthefrailtyofgenius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles sort of loves his life. He knows its a bit strange and a bit fucked up, but mostly he loves it, and because he loves Scott too, he can usually deal with all of the bits he doesn't love quite so much. That is, until it gets a bit too close for comfort when he gets bitten by an alpha that he murders with a baseball bat three seconds later. Then he starts to freak out, and its kinda downhill from there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sunflowers

**Author's Note:**

> Yay so here's the first chapter of that multi-chapter thing I mentioned a little while ago. I'm uploading the second chapter along with this one, but the third one wont be up for over a week, cause I'm still writing the 6th chapter at the moment, and I don't want to allow myself some leeway.
> 
> Enjoy :D

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was a different original version of this chapter, but I've since re-written it to a more fitting way for the beginning of the story. Let me know what you think.

“Fuckin bullshit ugly fuckers"

Stiles sniffed, stubbornly wiping at the tears dripping down his cheekbone with the back of his hand. His shoulders were hunched, legs loosely bent at the knee, right arm dangling over one of them. A sunflower hung between his battered, spindly fingers. His hoodie hooked over his buzz cut and shielded him haphazardly from the cold of the Californian night. His jeans were a slim fit old pair, torn around the hems near his tatty high tops, and muddy where he’d trekked through the reserve before taking the path to the graveyard.

The journey on foot in the biting air, the way his abdomen cramped and the panting of laboured breaths escaping from his chapped, split lips - they were all things that had driven him on. It had been painfully cathartic. After watching Lydia falling yet again into Jackson’s arms, on top of all the bullshit before that, he desperately needed to _move_.

“'Dunno why you ever liked ‘em" 

His voice was croaky, breath whistling in his lungs; probably not a good sign by anyone's standards, but he just couldn't bring himself to care.

He was aware of the fact that he looked awful; with red rimmed eyelids and ghostly pale skin, he most likely appeared somewhat undead. But fuck it, if he looked as though he should be sedated and rehabilitated then so be it. His currently unstable mental state was only about 5% his own fault anyways. Well, maybe 10%. No more than 30% though. His slightly self-destructive tendency to disregard all medical suggestions made to him in the past twelve hours definitely had a part in it, ever since he’d arrived in the doorway of his bedroom bloodied and bruised. However, his eternally unlucky choice in peers also largely contributed to his misfortune. Fuckin werewolves.

But the majority of it was down to Allison’s psychotic grandfather.

He winced at the thought of Gerard, his heartbeat picking up. His broken ribs ached, and a sharp, fresh stinging shot across the injured half of his face. He swallowed and hissed a little, the thud of a fist against his extremities churning in his gut, twisting into that familiarly sadistic fury he kept locked so tightly beneath the surface of his skin.

“I don’t get it. Most mums like roses or lilies. But you loved _sunflowers._ Who the fuck loves _sunflowers_?”

But he knew the answer to his own question. His mother had always been unapologetically quirky. She’d had a fondness for ugly, wilted things. His father had admired that compassion in her, and it was something the two had shared, something that had connected them. Stiles had no idea how two such wonderful people, had raised such a pedantic asshole.

He tended to default back to his mother whenever he felt vulnerable or exposed; it was like a self-destruct button over which his finger constantly hovered.

Klaudia Stilinski had been one of those people that everyone loved. She’d been so full of life, and to be a nine-year-old watching the life drain from his mother slowly, relentlessly – god, it just angered Stiles so very much. It simply was not _fair_.

A lot of things angered Stiles of late. It felt as though sometimes it was quaking in his bones. And it was getting harder to keep it pinned down. His sadistic, spiteful tendencies were getting more prominent with each blow, and he was unsure of how much more he could physically take before the ropes snapped.

“I don’t- I don’t know what I’m supposed to do, mom. I’m terrified all the time, I’m having panic attacks again – Scott is juggling a shit tonne more bullshit than I am, but I still feel like I’m gonna explode from all this _pain_ …” he trailed off, his breath uneven in the air, shaky, visible wisps tufting from his mouth in the inky blue darkness of the autumn night.

His breath was getting increasingly more rattily, fresh tears welling and spilling over, and this time he made no attempts to brush them away, only letting them fall.

He ached with the impossible need for her soft palm against his skin and her gentle kiss to his forehead. He longed for a warmth that would envelope him wholly, just for a few moments.

“It’s cold"

“Well done, Sourwolf, you’ve once again mastered the art of stating the obvious"

He accepted the further and inevitable loss of his dignity, but didn't move, not sure if he even could, wondering if his bones were frozen in place, feeling as though they would all splinter if he tried.

“You’re in pain"

“Ding, ding, ding, ding, ding!” Stiles tipped his head back, the bite of bitter sarcasm rolling off of his tongue in a higher pitched, mocking tone “sourpuss scores correct again”

Derek sat down beside him, cross-legged, hands tucked in the pockets of his leather jacket.

“Scott’s been looking for you. Everyone's been trying to get hold of you but your phone is off. You’ve been AWOL for over five hours, Stiles"

“I thought everyone would be too busy fussing over Jackson, making funeral arrangements for psycho gramps, figuring out what the creepy triskellion on your front door means-”

“You know about that?”

“’Saw it on my way up. I figured I could take a day off worrying about everyone else’s problems before I have to put my mad research and investigation skills into action again”

“You can have a month off, more than that even. You’re in pain, you need rest, and I am perfectly capable of using google”

“My fingers are fine, I can type,” Stiles retorted firmly, staring straight ahead at his mother’s name etched in stone “and you've already got a strong theory, you don't need google"

Stiles finally looked at him, turning his head, smirking in a bitter sort of way as Derek's expression confirmed his assumption, still unable to loosen the anger lodged in his muscles.

“Alpha pack"

Stiles' attention perked in a fox-like manner; if he had ears, they'd be standing upward.

“The fuck? That’s not a thing. That _can’t_ be a thing”

“It’s definitely a thing,” Derek replied with distaste “that sign on my door was a power play. They’re letting me know that they’re here and that they’ve got Erica and Boyd-”

“ _They’ve got Erica and Boyd_? What the fuck dude? We could already be out looking for them!"

Erica and Boyd had started off as niggly annoyances. Newly turned teen werewolves tended to be a particular source of irritation in his life of late, thanks to Derek. But now Stiles… well, he was weirdly attached to the two ridiculously attractive young betas. He – _shit_ , Stiles realised with a panic in his chest, that he sort of considered the betas to be like his pups. His babies. His babies in _danger_.

‘ _No one does anything like that again, okay?_ ’ his own words seemed to echo through his brain and the images of them nodding obediently in response flashed to the forefront.

“We need – _fuck_ ,Der, we gotta find them, we don’t know anything about this pack or what they want or how strong they are-”

“Shut up. I know. I know we have to find them, and we will, I promise. But you’re injured and you haven’t slept or eaten in over twenty four hours. You look like you’re in serious need of some pain meds"

Derek was already taking the sunflower from Stiles’ hand and placing it on Claudia’s grave. Ignoring his outraged stuttering of protests and curse words, Derek stood up, bending over and taking one of Stiles’ limp arms, throwing it over his leather clad shoulders. He then slipped his own arm around Stiles’ waist, pulling him up to full height.

“Fuuuuuu…” 

His entire frame struggled and argued with gravity. Derek’s body was ridiculously warm, and he had a sudden urge to burrow himself against it and lynch all the heat he could get. Of course, their relationship was undefined at the moment, and whilst they’d had a couple of spare of the moment make-out fests over the past few months, Derek was no closer to outwardly talking about what it was that was going on between them, than Stiles was to telling his own father about the town’s infestation of dangerous and whiny werewolves.

“Shit. Stiles, you fucking idiot! You’re freezing”

 

Abruptly, he shook Derek off, his less injured arm wrapping around his own diaphragm. His whole body felt heavy and lethargic, every muscle crying out and aching with soreness. His stomach gave a loud grumble of hunger. He hadn’t realised how completely exhausted he was. The effects of his Adderall overdose earlier on in the day were wearing off and he could feel himself crashing, whilst his overactive brain buzzed in argument with the fatigue.

“At least let me drive you home?”

Stiles gritted his teeth, breathing out through his nose, looking away for a moment, weighing up his options. He really was ill. He couldn’t particularly see straight, and along with the building agony of all the bruises and breaks, the parts of his body that had been left untouched by Gerard were numbed and stiffened. His heart was beating far too slow in his chest, and his eyes were sore and droopy. He was torn between defiantly making things worse for himself out of principle, answering the itching at his fingertips to get on his laptop and start researching alpha packs, and the longing to pass out horizontally for a good twenty-four hours.

Eventually, his physiological state won out, and he pushed past Derek’s shoulder in the direction of the cemetery’s parking lot, lowering himself carefully into the plush leather of the Camero.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Stiles was being marched into the hospital muttering about betrayal and the breaking of the ‘almost-boyfriend code’ with Derek practically dragging him along by the collar of his hoodie.

“…turn your furry ass into a fuckin throw rug,” Stiles growled.

“Stiles?”  standing up from her seat behind the reception desk, moving around it and taking his face in her hands, searching him for injuries, mentally cataloguing and diagnosing in the same way that his father dealt with crime scenes.

Melissa stood from her seat behind the reception desk, moving around it and taking his face in her hands, searching him for injuries, mentally cataloguing and diagnosing in the same way that his father dealt with crime scenes.

“I’m fine,” he lied in a decidedly gentler voice, catching Derek’s stern eyes “I’m fine!”

“You are not fine, young man, you're freezing. Call his father"

“I already did. He was colder when I found him but he warmed up slightly on the ride here"

Derek's voice was impatient and slightly croaky, and Stiles only then considered just how exhausted he must be too. Melissa nodded at him, ignoring Stiles grunting about them talking about him as though he wasn’t stood right in front of them both.

“Have you taken your meds today?” 

“Yeah. Too much of it actually. It’s… it’s kinda been a stressful day. You’ll hear about it when you get home to Scott. The last dosage I took was about six hours ago when I went home"

“Did _he_ do this?”

She eyed Derek with obvious dislike.

“No! No, are you kidding me? This dude is just a grumpy puppy. This was-”

He broke off as his world spun around him for a moment and he was forced to grab Melissa’s arm on reflex. Derek shifted so that he could catch him if needed.

“That’s it, you’re coming with me"

She showed them down the corridor, getting another nurse to cover her station whilst she helped Stiles into a bed, disregarding his feeble protests once more.

About ten minutes later, a doctor he vaguely recognised came in and prodded at him, muttering a few things, scolding Stiles for his self-destructive behaviour and making some notes on his clipboard. Again, no one was fucking listening to him, and he was changed into a hospital gown, hooked up to an IV and some morphine, and informed that the Sheriff was on his way and would soon be present.

The entire time, Derek stood nearby, hands in his pockets, stance stony and tense. Stiles would have felt guilty for being such a worry if he wasn’t busy still being traumatised from his earlier beating.

“I’m not apologising to you. I’ve got work to do and betas to save, but you fucking put me in here. They won’t let me out for days because I’m the Sheriff’s son, and I’ll have to give a statement now and everything. The food in here is fucking vile, and there’s no way Mama Mccall is letting me have my laptop in here"

“You were on the verge of collapse! I wasn’t about to let you just wander off back into the forest-”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, 140 pounds of pale skin and fragile bone and all that. I get it"

His voice was slightly slurred now, the morphine kicking in. He felt a rush of dread wash over him when his eyelids began to droop and it dawned on him that he was about to be at the mercy of his own subconscious, and that meant extremely unpleasant night terrors, ones he did not want to have in a hospital full of people.

“You were a person about to collapse and you needed professional medical assistance. This has nothing to do with your resilience levels or being human! Do you honestly think that I would have just left you out there?”

“Can we skip the part where you pretend like you give a shit about me to make yourself feel like a better person please?”

That seemed to hit a nerve with Derek because he strode the last few paces to Stiles’ bedside and got in his personal space, looking him dead in the eye with an unidentifiable look full of emotion and anger. Stiles swallowed abruptly, although still blurry and drowsy.

“Don’t. Don’t even suggest that I don't care, because _you_ full well fucking know that isn’t the case”

There was a further moment of silence in which Stiles’ fluttering eyes searched Derek’s hazel green ones. Eventually, Stiles swallowed again, blinking and looking down at where his grazed, bruised hands were rested in his lap. He felt the sudden urge to burst into tears; as though it was all way too much for him to process all at once. Then Derek was stepping back and pulling a chair up, shrugging off his jacket. He drew in an audibly shaky breath and reached out, taking Stiles’ hands in his own. His veins turned black as Stiles felt the remaining throb of pain ebb out of him.

His last thought before he blacked out was how much his dad was going to want to kill him when he arrived.


	2. That's heroic, can we make out now?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles being absolutely badass, and lots of werewolf drama, as usual.  
> Let me know what you think & enjoy.

It was about midday when Stiles' jeep swerved to a halt outside the Hale residence, slamming the door open hard and jumping out in one movement. He made quick work of the porch steps, marching up them, anger knitted into his brow, keys clenched in his bony fist, barging through the front door still etched with the pointy triskellion.

“Derek, get your ass down here so I can tear you a new one for keeping me in the dark. Again"

"Just let yourself in, why don't you?"

"You let yourself in through my window every fucking day, don't even bother"

"You're still recovering and I'm not having you involved in this. It's too dangerous"

Derek stopped on the bottom step and Stiles glared at him, folding his arms over his torso and sitting down with his legs crossed on the floor. He stuck his chin up, pouting defiantly.

“Fine, I'm not moving until you tell me about what's really going on”

“You're seventeen years old, Stiles, not three. Don't make me throw you over my shoulder and take you to the station”

"My dad would shoot you on sight”

“Not if he knew the ridiculousness of what you're asking me. This is not just Peter this time. He's a walk in the park compared to these Alphas I've got on my back, and they've already got my betas, which means they have _me_ "

“Erica and Boyd are my friends too-”

“No, Stiles!”

“Yes, Derek!”

“For fuck sake, you're being childish”

“And you're being a sourwolf”

“No, I'm trying to protect one of the very few people I actually give a shit about!”

There was a hint of a deep, guttural growl at the end of the last few syllables, and Derek was clearly distressed. Stiles didn't know what to say. He was very rarely rendered speechless, and when he was, it always seemed to involve Derek. He knew how much it got to Derek when he was forced into admitting that he cared about anyone.

“Wow, that was kind of hot”

“Stiles!”

“What? I'm just saying”

“Well stop saying and go home”

“Train me then"

Stiles jumped to his feet again, challenging and demanding.

“No”

“Look, okay, I can do way more than you think I can. It's really sweet that you're trying to protect me, but I still have my own mind and choices, and I want you to train me to fight properly"

“I shouldn't have to,” Derek huffed in a sad way, dropping his head down slightly after staring for a few seconds "I shouldn't have to teach you how to fight. You shouldn't even be thinking about how to beat a pack of alpha werewolves. You should be thinking about school and college and Lydia"

Stiles closed his eyes for a moment before nodding, reaching out and squeezing his shoulder.

“None of us should. But I'm not about to let you all take this on without me. Derek, you _know_ me, did you really think I was just going to let this go?”

Stiles let out a soft, breathy chuckle, flicking Derek's chin up with a nudge of his knuckle.

“Have you been sleeping?”

Derek changed the subject as his eyes searched Stiles' face, brow furrowing into the broody frown he always produced when he was suffering a great inner conflict. Which meant he pretty much looked liked that all the time.

“Have _you_ been sleeping?”

“Fuck you”

“Sure man, what time should I come over later?” 

“Go home, Stiles"

Derek rolled his eyes, pointing at the front door. Stiles grinned and pushed off his feet a small millimetre to press a peck to his cheek, courteously leaving without looking at him again, letting him blush adorably in his own little bubble of emotional constipation.

* * *

Stiles ducked for the second time when a fist came flying at his face, jumping to the side as a huge foot was aimed at his abdomen, hiding behind a tree.

“Woah, what the hell?” 

Stiles peaked out from his hiding place to where Derek was stood.

“You wanted me to teach you how to fight, but you've got no meat on your bones”

“Hey! I didn't hear you complaining last month when you were rutting against me like your life depended on it. Besides, I've been working out this year, I'm stronger than I look"

He came out from behind the branches properly, narrowing his eyes. It was actually true. He had definitely filled out somewhat in the last few months; he was working harder in nearly every aspect of his life, rarely even having a moment to himself or to sit down; apart from the past month where he'd been ordered strictly to bed rest and to not move on his ribs too much. 

It wasn't his fault, though; his medication caused growth halts and fatigue. It would either have made him really short, or really thin. He happened to have drawn the lanky card. Although, Stiles _had_ put on at least ten pounds extra muscle and had to buy slightly bigger t-shirts and jeans to fit over his body. But he still needed to work on physical stamina. Running around in life and death situations and moving around at every opportunity wasn't enough; the muscle had to hold some solidarity to it. He had to have endurance, readiness. He had no problem with speed or agility, it was just getting that routine in so that he'd be ready to properly hold himself in a fighting situation. Especially when they had an alpha pack trying to challenge them.

“You have strategic intelligence. You can work with that in a fight. It's going to be your main foundation for your individual fighting style, but we need to start with the basics. Running. You run for three hours a day on the track I mark out for you in the woods. You come back to the house, rest for five minutes, and then do seventy press ups followed by ten crunches. You leave it an hour, then you go upstairs and use my weight lifting equipment for ninety minutes. Don't make that face at me, Stiles, you wanted this. When you've got the muscle definition, we'll start combat training"

Derek wiped a line of sweat from his brow and squinted under the sun.

“How long did it take your pack to get to combat training?” 

Stiles felt uneasy, but ready all the same. He could feel that determination in his gut again.

“Erica managed it before the others. It took her two and a half weeks and she ate nothing but steak and vegetables. Come back tomorrow morning, be well rested, you're going out running first thing"

He turned on his heel and walked back into the house, leaving a deflated Stiles huffing at his own inability to keep himself out of undesirably exhausting situations.

* * *

“Five minutes rest is up, press ups"

Derek yelled from inside the house whilst Stiles lay panting on the dry floor outside, water bottle empty, dripping with sweat. He pulled himself up on all fours before stretching out with a groan and getting on with the press ups he knew Derek was counting from the window of the renovated kitchen. Running wasn't so bad until he got to the last two miles, and the sun started to come up properly in the sky. His body hurt and his ribs ached like a bitch. He probably shouldn't have agreed to do such an extensive routine so soon after having the shit beat out of him; but he wanted this. He wanted to feel strong, to not have to run away all the time.

 _Sixty nine, seventy_. Stiles coughed out the little air he had left in his lungs and just managed to spin himself on his back before he collapsed so that he didn't land on his rib cage.

“Three minutes, and then you're doing the crunches"

An ice cold bottle of water was thrown at the ground next to him. He sat up and poured half the bottle over his head.

"You're doing well"

Then Derek went back inside. Stiles collapsed back again, throwing his head back and attempting to breathe slower so his lungs didn't feel like they were bursting.

Stiles didn't need telling this time; he simply downed the rest of his water and started on the crunches, ignoring the burning in his stomach muscles and concentrating on breathing as steadily as possible. Once he was done, he just about managed to lift himself to his feet as Scott pulled up in the driveway with Isaac, Jackson, and Lydia.

Scott moved to take some of his weight, and Lydia grinned softly at him, pressing a well-done kiss to his cheek that stung deep in his chest as a remnant of his old feelings for her. It was gone within a second though, and he remembered the reasons why he'd given up on that. Being left alone with his thoughts had most definitely brought him to some rather ground breaking conclusions - like the fact that he was gloriously bisexual and apparently in love with his best friend's alpha.

She took Jackson's hand, leading them all into the house. Scott helped him sit on the sofa before plonking himself down next to him, Isaac on the other side.

“Derek, are you sure it's healthy for him to be working this hard?” 

Lydia lowered herself into Jackson's lap. He switched the TV on, lazily flicking through the channels with his usual moody disposition. Isaac frowned slightly, but relaxed a moment later.

“He's fine, it'll do his body some good to be out of bed now he's recovering"

Derek entered the room and wordlessly threw Scott and Jackson a beer. Lydia got a lemonade because she wasn't drinking alcohol; it was all part of her new detox program. Stiles simply got yet another bottle of water chucked at his chest and he had already drank half of it before Lydia could say her next sentence.

“You've changed your tune, you were growling about him not looking after himself properly the other day-”

“He's fine. Stiles, you're fine, right?”

Stiles nodded once, not sure he even had the energy to talk at that moment.

“Yay! Now we've established that your pet human is skipping pretty; how about we remind ourselves that we have half a pack missing?”

Jackson eyed Derek expectantly.

“Chris found his dad and put a bullet in his head. They burned his body last week. I had a word with Deaton early this morning and he's working on a locator spell using Erica and Boyd's jackets. We're still trying to get a hold of their cell phone signals and I thought we could have another go at tracking them later on"

Derek's jawline was set straight and he wasn't looking at anyone in particular. Stiles watched him properly though, the twitching in his right eyebrow and the flexing and unflexing of his fist. 

Something he'd been realising more and more about Derek Hale was that he took responsibility very seriously. He was responsible for Erica and Boyd, he was responsible for Scott and Jackson and Isaac; they were his pack, he was their alpha. He had an obligation to keep them safe and to make sure they were happy. And apparently he had assumed responsibility over Stiles as well. 

“I'm coming with you tonight then"

Stiles spoke for the first time since he'd been helped indoors by his friends.

“Absolutely not"

“Why not? I deserve to-”

“You deserve to be punched in the face Stiles, but I'm refraining from doing that for the moment seeing as I have more important things to deal with-”

"You know that's abusive?" Stiles snapped suddenly, unable to hold himself back any longer "you've been pushing me around like I'm some sort of unwanted ragdoll hand-me-down for over a year now and you're handsy and threatening and rude. I'm fed up of it. I'm not catering for your incessant need to have authority anymore. I'm coming with you tonight, I have my dad's gun-”

“You have your dad's _what_?-”

“Look, man-”

“Don't fucking start Stiles. You can't track or fight or even hear us warn you about anything; you'd be too vulnerable and exposed to attackers out there and we can't do our jobs properly if we're fussing about keeping you safe too"

Stiles looked very angry and opened his mouth to protest further before Scott nudged him hard in the ribs. It was very rare that Stiles threw pissy fits; in fact, normally he'd just give people the silent treatment, but shit, this was just getting on his nerves now. Ignoring the lingering ache in his abdomen, he stood up fast, stomping out of the room, forcefully kicking Derek in the leg as he went past.

He heard Derek's hiss of pain and gasps from Scott and Isaac. Lydia broke into laughter but before he could be grabbed and shoved against a solid surface, he was upstairs and slamming the door behind him. He had not been this angry in a long time.

He was being irrational really. What Derek was saying made sense; Stiles was a liability and always ended up worse off than he had been all the other previous times he'd been attacked. He really was dreading to think about where he'd end up next; in hospital probably, blind, crushed bones, maybe a couple more claw scars, a few hundred stitches. But Erica and Boyd were important to him too. No one seemed to get that. Just because he was a human, didn't mean he was useless, it didn't mean that he didn't deserve to at least try and participate in saving his friends.

He heard voices downstairs again, muffled by a few floors of newly pinned down carpet and he knew they had resumed their tactic planning for the tracking party they were going out as that night. If Derek thought he was really going to stay put like a good little human pet then he had another thing coming. 

He hadn't been lying when he said he had his father's gun; he'd just missed out the fact that he had been practising with it, working on his aim. His dad had been out at work all day for four weeks whilst Stiles had been locked in his bedroom, and since there had been so much going on, the older man had simply assumed he'd misplaced the thing and had applied for another gun; the original tucked safely away in the bolted top drawer of Stiles' desk. Of course, with all the stress and paperwork, Sheriff Stilinski had forgotten to lock his son's window, which meant that once the Doctor had told Stiles his ribs were back in place and healing well, he had started climbing down the drainpipe with the gun in his back pocket.

He'd started off small, shooting at the numerous cans of soda he'd been devouring every day during his 'recovery', but soon he got bored of it and had gone a little deeper into the forest, slowly hitting at moving squirrels and rabbits. It wasn't exactly a professional qualification or anything, but it had made him feel a lot better.

So, even though he'd not even had twenty minutes of the hours break he was supposed to be taking, he pulled his sweat stained t-shirt over his head and opened the window. He adjusted the weights on the bar to suit his personal abilities and laid back on the bench, immediately beginning to feel a strain on his arms and still slightly sore shoulder blades. But Stiles was determined. Plus it sort of meant he could tease Erica that he beat her time when they got her back. They _would_ get her back. Stiles would make sure of it.

* * *

He spent three hours using the equipment before he finally decided he had worked off most of the aggression he'd felt earlier. He put on his Stiles face and bounced down the creaky stairs into the large hallway, peaking his head through the arch of the living room. Scott and Isaac had gone. Jackson was in the kitchen wolfing down steak for lunch, and Lydia was lounging across the sofa watching America's next top model.

“Where's teddy bear one and two?” 

Stiles frowned at her, taking his keys out of his pocket and throwing his t-shirt over the one shoulder. He squirmed a little when her eyes traced the lines of the three scars across his torso and shoulders before she shook herself mentally and smiled the bright Lydia smile, the one that contained just the right amount of condescending scrutiny and admiration.

“Scott's gone home to get some equipment for tonight; Isaac went to tie up a few loose ends – and I had no idea you were hiding that body under there"

He rolled his eyes when Jackson growled in the kitchen and she grinned even wider, purposefully licking her lips. Stiles drew in a deep breath, swallowing and shaking off the instinct to get upset about it. The Lydia drama was behind him now. She was his friend; anything more than that would be bad for him and the pack.

“Real smooth, sweetie, real smooth. Where'd daddy bear go?” 

“Gone to get an update from Deaton on that locator spell; he says he has a witch staying in Oregon doing it for him, it's about a three hour drive away so Derek's taken him up there"

“Bonnie is a star. Well, I'm stoked, so I'm going home to sleep for an inordinate amount of time" 

Lydia didn't have wolf instincts, so she couldn't sniff out his deception or hear a quiver in his heartbeat; but she could be ridiculously intuitive so it had taken him a long time to develop the skills to get past her.

“Don't sleep for too long, I'm coming around later to watch a movie with you seeing as I'm the _smart_ human and I don't have any urges to go running off in the middle of the forest at night without any special wolfie juju. Danny is busy which leaves you as my only available bestie. Allison is ill, so you're on Lydia entertaining duty"

"You know, there was a time where that last sentence would have excited me more than a naked Derek Hale, but it really doesn't have the same effect anymore," he remarked, earning himself a pillow to the head.

He had to think about the new addition to his escape plan for a couple of seconds before he nodded, winking at her before leaving. It was okay, he'd just make her watch Star Wars again and she'd be asleep within half an hour. He could climb out the window, drive the Jeep into the woods and start on his own little tracking mission.

And he had an appointment with Allison first; he was calling her up on a favour, and he didn't have the emotional energy to feel bad about exploiting the Gerard situation. He wanted wolfsbane bullets.

* * *

“Oh my god I can't believe I'm letting you make me watch this again" 

Lydia settled herself against his chest as he flicked the play button and the opening credits for Star Wars: A New Hope started elevating up the screen.

“It's pay back for all those times you made Jackson watch The Notebook"

He knew his plan was stupid and reckless and that he'd probably end up hurt, if not by this alpha gang, by Derek ripping his head off; but he had to do it, he refused to sit back and wait whilst there was a possibility that two of his missing friends could be found.

“I still make him watch that"

“I make my dad watch it every other weekend"

The movie started and she nodded, blankly watching the explosions on the TV, turning his half-assed attention to what was going on with Luke Skywalker and waiting for her to inevitably fall asleep. Ten minutes later, Lydia had gone limp. He looked down and smiled at her closed eyes. Even in her sleep her face was animated and stunning. 

He slowly untangled himself from her, making sure not to jolt her too much as he stood up. He pulled his grey blazer on over his purple t-shirt and took his dad's gun from his top drawer, tucking it securely into his belt and quietly opening the window. He closed it as best he could to keep Lydia warm whilst he was gone, and shimmied down the drainpipe. He landed on his feet on the floor, hopping athletically over the fence and out into the driveway.

By the time he was half way down the highway, he was panicking a little. Mostly because he knew full well the pack would have started tracking by now and he didn't know where any of them were or whether they were okay. The sun was gone from the sky and the cold was creeping into the town through the forest trees, a contrast to the sweltering hot of the daytime. His hands were strumming madly on the steering wheel as some Indie band played on the radio. Eventually he got fed up of listening to it and turned it off, pulling up at the side of the road.

He went in his glove compartment which now contained several different ingredients and herbs given to him by Deaton. He'd been studying, in his month off, what each one could do, how they could be used together and what they meant. He now carried around a repertoire of herbs that could be actually potentially quite dangerous. Soon, Deaton would allow him to start studying magic and he would be able to tame the random sparks that flew from his fingers at awkward and inconvenient intervals.

But tonight he wanted to make sure he'd at least attempted to keep himself mildly unharmed. He sprinkled Ague Root in a circle around his car, drawing in a deep breath and concentrating, smiling when he felt the power root the powder to the ground. His Jeep was protected. He tucked a sachet of drawing powder, containing a rather smelly crust of dried dragons blood, in every pocket he had. It meant that if, by chance, he was going to run into a witch, he would be protected from hexes and that spells would be reversed and backfire. It wasn't the best type of shield from harm, but at least it was something.

Finally, he closed the glove compartment and door, locked his car, and stepped out of the circle. Pulling the firearm from his belt, he sprinted off into the forest. He slowed as he got in deeper, stepping carefully, breathing as deep and as silently as possible. He closed his eyes when his hands started shaking again and drew in a breath of cold air, forcing himself to use the fear and anticipation as a focus, a motivator, something to keep him extra alert. He wondered if staying with werewolves for a prolonged amount of time could induce effects of contagious heightened senses, because he most definitely felt as though he could hear pretty much everything in the forest.

After at least twenty minutes of straining to see ahead of him, Stiles gave up and flicked on the torch attached to it. Then he spun on his heal, pointing the gun straight ahead of him, glaring along the eyeline of it, looking around everything he could shape out for a sign of the movement he'd heard. He heard it behind him and whipped around again, hands gripping the gun tight and steady, aimed and waiting for someone to dare him to shoot, waiting for someone to just try and hurt him.

He felt that familiar pull; that thrill in his veins that pumped hot blood through his body and beat his heart faster, that need that terrified him to his core. He was furious and he wanted someone to pay.

He heard the rush of wind again and started to get impatient.

“Awh, don't be shy. I'm nice... sorta"

His voice was soft as it crept out through the trees, wetting his lips with the tip of his tongue, unable to withhold the smirk that furled at the corner of his mouth.

He knew one of the pack would hear him and change their course instantly so if he did need someone as a backup – a very likely occurrence – they would not be far behind him.

There was another rush of wind and suddenly, right in the line of the gun stood a man with dark hair and a lip piercing. He was tall but thin with hungry eyes. He wore the mandatory leather jacket for a werewolf – freaking hell was that a uniform or something? – and jeans. 

What really made Stiles' heart jump through his throat however, was Erica. She was sobbing in the guy's arms, being forcefully held up by her throat and a revolting, tattooed arm around her waist. She was covered in mud and sweat stains. She was thin, her hair dirty, tear tracks tracing lines down her cheeks, mascara smudged around her eyes. In her left leg, a broken arrow stuck out in a wound that hadn't healed properly and was still bleeding very heavily. God it physically hurt him to see her like this, to look into her terrified eyes that were normally so sure and confident.

“STILES NO! RUN! LEAVE!”

Her voice cracked and broke as she struggled even now after possible months of this treatment; god, if Erica Reyes was anything, she was a fighter.

“Shh, it's all good, we're going to get you out of here, baby"

He forced a small smile on his lips before he looked directly at the alpha and swallowed hard when the eyes flashed red, fangs bared themselves, and claws grew out grimy, long and pointed.

“C'mon, man, what is any of this achieving? If you just give me my friend now, you can leave with the rest of your alphas and I'll call Derek off the hunt, just - fuck, just let her go" 

Silently, he moved his aim millimetres to the left, gulping down a huge lump in his throat. Footsteps surrounded him and people pulling their runs to a halt sounded from all sides. Growls joined in a circle, mingling. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Scott restraining a seemingly rescued Boyd who was half-conscious, but still snapping and gnarling at the alpha holding Erica. The rest of the offending pack were there too, but they all seemed to be covered in their own blood, all panting and coughing out, a couple of them howling occasionally.

He felt replenished for a moment, his feet shifting into a much steadier stance - fuck yeah, no one messed with the Beacon Hills pack and got out completely unharmed.

“I said. Let. Her. Go"

“What's in it for me? Do I get territory?”

“How about you just hand my friend over, before I put a bullet through your skull?” 

“Territory? Want it"

“Stiles. No. Speak. Caveman"

He was highly aware that Erica's state was worsening as she lost even more blood, choking on the hold around her neck and whimpering, like a puppy being kicked around.

“Stiles, put the gun down and get out of here right now"

Derek's warning voice vibrated through the circle but Stiles ignored it as usual and gripped the gun harder, bracing himself for one final attempt at negotiation.

“I'm an alpha, little boy. Bullets won't kill me" 

Stiles could see Isaac, Jackson and Derek prowling sneakily around the circle, taking advantage of the distraction by ripping throats out, then hiding. The betas did what they could, and Derek finished their victims off. That was another pack rule. None of the betas were allowed to kill an alpha. Around them, a fight was breaking out, but within moments, it was just Derek's pack left waiting for an outcome.

“Let's fucking see about that, shall we?” 

His finger slammed down on the trigger and in a split second, the silver bullet had glinted in the moonlight before embedding itself in the alpha's head.

Stiles lurched forward as the alpha dropped to the ground screeching in pain. He caught Erica and held her in tight, unable to stop himself from crying a little as she sobbed into his shoulder, mumbling half-sentences about batman and moons and arrows. 

That's when he remembered her leg and quickly passed her over to Derek who let out a visible sigh of intense relief at her touch, holding her in his lap.

Stiles stowed his gun and pulled the dagger from his blazer pocket, swiping open her jeans with the blade and yanking the remnants of the arrow from her thigh. Blood continued to flow from it, and even with shaking fingers and hot tears rolling down his cheeks, he sliced off a piece of fabric from the torn denim and tied it tightly around the injury.

He didn't know why it wasn't healing. But then, he supposed strength was important for healing and she hardly had any of it.

“Isaac, Scott, get Boyd out of here. Jackson, you're with me and Stiles in the Jeep"

Derek lifted Erica easily, letting her nuzzle his collar bone, scenting him, cocooning herself in his body heat.

"Jackson, keep your eyes peeled, Stiles take your gun and dagger back out and be ready. There are a lot more of them that are out there and we just wiped out half their pack; they're going to be pissed"

“Derek-”

“Not now"

Stiles sighed and nodded, readying himself, twirling the dagger around his fingers before gripping it tightly, his other hand curled around the gun once more.

They jogged slowly back up through the forest to the main road where the Jeep was. There was a dead silence all the way home. Jackson sat in the front, glancing at Stiles' stony face occasionally whilst Derek soothed Erica in the back seat, stroking her hair and taking her pain.

“Derek, man, you know you're not supposed to do that too much, it can kill you"

They were getting closer to the Hale house now, and Jackson answered the phone to a very angry Lydia.

“It's necessary"

Derek's voice was softer now. It didn't comfort Stiles one bit, it just meant that he wasn't strong enough to be angry; he would be experiencing the full wrath of Alpha Derek Hale in the morning.

Of course, once Stiles knew for sure that Erica would be okay, he would be retreating back to his bedroom at home to ignore his problems and sleep for as long as possible. But then, he didn't know what stupid things he could do when he was high on adrenaline and relief; he might actually consider carrying on with his new exercise routine in the morning. Now that, _that_ would be stupid. 

Derek was only half awake from all the pain-taking when Stiles pulled up in the drive and opened the back door. Jackson took Erica carefully in his arms and Stiles grabbed one of Derek's arms, throwing it over his shoulders and securely holding his waist, taking his crushing weight and helping him into the house.

“Scott man, give me a hand with your daddy bear"

Scott helped him upstairs, but left just as Derek caught Stiles' wrist and looked up at him through hooded eyes.

“The next time you do something like that I will seriously kill you"

“Sure thing, sourwolf, sure thing"

Stiles smiled, patting his hand before shrugging it off and hobbling down to the bottom floor.

He went straight to Erica where she'd been laid out on the sofa. Lydia had arrived at some point during the journey home and was now on one side of the furniture, cradling Erica's head in her lap, slowly stroking through her hair.

“Wow, you really need a shower and some vanilla shampoo"

Lydia grimaced, carrying on with her ministrations nonetheless. For someone who was never a particularly big fan of either Erica or Boyd, she'd gotten to the house pretty fast and was looking surprisingly worried for them.

“Hey sweetie"

Stiles knelt in front of the sofa and pressed a kiss to Erica's forehead, nodding at Jackson who was already getting to work popping Boyd's shoulder back into its socket, and Scott, who was dabbing blood off Boyd's face from where the cuts were almost done healing.

“Erica took Isaac's hand tight in comfort, but by the looks of it, it just made him even more angry and sad.

“She seems to be healing now. That arrow's been in there for a long time though, at least four days bleeding on and off. I have some stuff in my Jeep that will speed up the process and strengthen her white blood cells so her wolfie powers will be able to fight off infections quicker. Scott dude, can you come with me? I need you to run the perimeter with some protection herbs; we're not strong enough to hold an attack right now,” Stiles said firmly, cupping Erica's face momentarily before gesturing for his friend to follow him outside.

“Okay, run this clockwise, then go anti-clockwise with this one; it works the same as mountain ash so you have to do the whole 'I do believe in fairies' dance. Be careful, take this,” Stiles instructed, handing him the dagger he kept with him at all times. It was engraved with symbols specifically designed to target the core of a werewolf's supernatural abilities; spelled with a hex programmed to release a rush of chemical into the blood stream that attacked the wolf DNA when gashed through skin. Deaton had made it for Stiles straight after they had heard about the alpha pack and told him never to hesitate when using it in defence. The second Scott had started running, Stiles had gone into the boot of the Jeep.

He pulled out his kit he had mentally labelled 'important' and pulled out a blood bag with Erica's blood type, the connection tube and needle; and some Vervain. It was poisonous to vampires, but seemed to have a positive effect on werewolves when inhaled. With the equipment he needed, he sprinted back to the house and got to work hooking up Erica with the medicines she needed before giving her a mild sedative which would allow it all to do its work whilst she slept.

After that, they all sat back and waited. None of them, of course, were really sure what they were waiting for, but they were sitting huddled together in the armchairs and sofas waiting nonetheless. Within half an hour, Boyd had made his excuses and gone up to bed. At three in the morning, Scott ordered five large peperoni pizzas and three two litre bottles of cola, but Stiles didn't eat anything. He wasn't hungry and couldn't work up an appetite with all the blood on his jeans and t-shirt.

He couldn't be bothered to climb upstairs for a change of clothes or a shower either. He just sat there not talking, excluding himself from the slowly lightening atmosphere whilst Erica slept on.

She looked quite peaceful even underneath all the dirt and blood, basking in the subconscious safety of being reunited with her pack.

* * *

At five in the morning just as the sun began creeping up, Stiles muttered a string of sentences and went to change into some running gear, grabbing himself a water bottle, arming himself with his dagger and gun, and running for miles until he couldn't breathe. He was actually fairly certain that he was on the verge of a panic attack, at which point, he stopped himself, sat panting against a tree for a couple of minutes, and then hobbled back to the house, not sure why tears were dripping down his cheekbones all over again, his movements lethargic and shaky.

It was half past seven in the morning when he got back and the only person left awake and in the living room was Lydia.

When Stiles walked in, he winked at her and gestured for her to go join Jackson in bed and she moved straight to him, wrapping him in a tight hug. He closed his eyes against the softness of her touch and allowed it to comfort him for a few moments, before she stepped away and went upstairs.

Erica stirred and blinked herself awake, an automatic smile breaking out of her face. It was beautiful, but small and broken, and it hurt him.

“Stiles,” she croaked, attempting to sit up. He shook his head at her though and she lay back slightly again. He knelt in front of her, pushing some hair back from her face.

“Hey, how you feeling?"

It had only been a month, but it was enough time for him to realise how important both she and Boyd were to him, enough time for him to decide that he would move mountains to get them back safe.

“Better. I actually – I feel really great. What did you give me?”

She looked confused as he helped her to sit up.

“Just a couple of regenerative concoctions; all for medicinal purposes of course,” he smirked and she raised her eyebrows.

“Marijuana? I feel spacey and my head is spinning a little"

“Nope, that would be the Ginko leaf; it increases blood circulation which speeds your powers up. You all healed now?”

He frowned at her and she opened her mouth a little, shrugging and looking down at her thigh, tracing over the now flawless skin where there had previously been a bone deep hole.

“I smell like I've spent a month in a pig sty"

She turned her nose up at herself and he laughed, running a hand through his slightly longer hair.

“No buzz cut!”

She pointed at his head. He rolled his tongue around his mouth and sighed.

“Can we talk about the style of my hair later? You're still not strong enough to walk properly and you need a shower, c'mon, I'll help you"

He stood and took both her arms, pulling her up carefully so she didn't spin out or throw up; he'd had enough of her bodily fluids over his clothes already for one night thank you very much.

“Can I have a bath actually? I sort of... miss being warm"

He smiled and nodded at her as they made their way up to the second floor. She let go of him, feeling a little stronger and leaning against the sink whilst he turned the taps on.

"Would you mind getting Derek to do this? It's just that I want to talk to him, he needs to know some things about these alphas and I need to know about some things that we discussed before me and Boyd tried to leave"

He frowned, but nodded again, pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead before going to wake Derek up"

“Hey, sourwolf, your pups need their mama"

Derek snapped awake, nearly hitting Stiles as he lurched forward, looking around for the source of a commotion.

"Woah, dude, calm your tits; Erica wants you to help her bath, I think she wants to talk to you"

He turned to leave, knowing he was going to get a lecture if he stayed longer than was needed.

“Stiles"

Stiles winced, squinting one eye and turning back, pursing his lips together.

“Yes, Derek?” 

“Go to bed. Also, keep that gun nearby"

Stiles let himself be lead back out onto the landing, confused.

“I thought you were all protective boyfriend/not-boyfriend-except-sort-of-maybe-boyfriend with the whole gun thing"

“Well now I'm telling you to keep it; and make sure Allison gives you more wolfsbane bullets"


	3. Training paid off

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here comes werewolf!Stiles

Derek stopped dead in his tracks when he moved into the clearing after taking down his final Alpha.

Stiles was stood, back hunched ever so slightly, baseball bat rested loosely on the back of his neck, the wood dripping with blood. There was a deep gash over his left eyebrow, and the rest of his face was dotted with bruises and cuts.

His shirt was stained with blood and the dagger hanging from his left hand glinted crimson and silver on the moonlight. Mud covered his worn down converse trainers, jeans threaded and sticking to his legs through sweat, his hair matted and messy.

“Stiles, what the hell-”

“I guess my training sort of paid off in the end. Looks like you're going to have to run damage control, man, there are at least three bodies back there and I think I took down two by the lake"

Stiles' voice was strong, cheeks flushed with adrenaline. He appeared fine until Derek had barely a second to catch him as his knees wobbled and he lost his balance.

“S'okay, just- just give me a second and I'll help you"

He pushed Derek back a little, but kept a firm, steadying grip on his arm, breathing deeply.

“Stiles, you just killed five people, you're going to sit down and rest"

“Don't you dare fucking patronise me as the weak human, not now"

His voice was joltingly venomous, and Derek rebuked immediately, stepping back, heart stuttering in his chest. There was somehting seriously wrong here, but apart from the dead bodies, he was having trouble putting his finger on it.

Stiles took a second to gather himself, shaking out his limbs and drawing in some deep, shuddery breaths. The he nodded, swallowing and wiping the bat across the ground. He tucked it in the back of his jeans and stowed his dagger in the sheath attached to his ankle beneath his jeans. 

Derek nearly had an aneurism when Stiles bent and hauled one of the alphas over his shoulder, panting as he went, but holding strong all the same, standing back up and looking at Derek like he was the one acting strange and delaying them.

“What the fuck?” 

"What? I've been working out! Now c'mon, before someone gets my dad down here"

Derek knew Stiles; he was running on adrenaline and the overdose of Adderall he'd taken before they had left the house. Once it all wore off, he would crash and panic. And when Stiles panicked shit usually hit the fan.

“Stiles-”

“Derek just pick up a fucking body and move your ass"

“We're going to be having words later"

Derek grabbed two bodies and heaved one over either shoulder, trudging after Stiles.

“Where exactly are we going?”

“Scott's meeting us over in the ditches, he's with Isaac with the petrol and matches"

* * *

Stiles was sat at the table in the kitchen of the Hale house, head hung forward, elbows supporting his arms up so his hands could roughly cradle his head.

Occasionally he gripped at his own hair or ran his fingers through it; but no one was speaking. His dagger was out on the wood in front of him, cleaned and stunning in the light as ever.

Stiles had a soft spot for it. Deaton had made it himself from scratch; brought all the materials, polished it down so it was a breathtaking silver that always shined. The handle was engraved with circles and symbols Deaton was teaching him about.

Erica was knelt in front of Boyd who was trying hard to keep his spine straight whilst she strapped his torso so it would heal faster. Jackson was drinking a silent glass of whiskey in the kitchen, eyes watching his girlfriend deeply as Derek wordlessly cleaned the cut on her eyebrow and wrapped her two broken fingers with a very tight, secure bandage. Isaac was laid out on the four seater sleeping soundlessly and deeply, sedated by a spell Stiles had cast before trudging out and collapsing at the kitchen table with Derek and Lydia. Scott was helping Allison fix a couple of her hunter weapons that were broken during the fighting and running, both sat cross-legged on the floor around the coffee table in the centre of the living room.

None of the lights were on despite the darkness outside; the house was lit solely by moonlight.

“Stiles, you should go to bed; you've done a lot tonight, you gotta be tired man"

Boyd's voice was quiet even though there was no real need for it to be. It was like being a child and whispering to your friends despite knowing you hadn't really done anything wrong. 

“I'm good. If anyone should sleep, it should be you guys, you were all injured a lot more than me and you're all falling asleep on your feet"

Stiles' eyes were bloodshot, his posture beaten and resigned. No one was fixing his afflictions because no one really knew how to approach him properly. No one knew how to really talk to each other at that moment. Having such an active part in the killing of your own kind sort of did something to them; made them feel a somberness that carried heavy and numbly in their guts. 

But it was worse for Stiles; he worked so hard to keep whatever he thought was lurking beneath the surface of his boisterous personality. And now his magic was getting stronger, he had access to more power, something elemental and emotional, something that lived inside of him and knew every inch of his soul, even the parts he kept so desperately hidden in fear of hurting the people he loved.

Stiles had killed a lot of werewolves tonight; Boyd had seen him in action, the sparks of light, the hot bursts of air that accompanied them, the force of its power, driven by his instinct, by his feelings.

So if he looked tired and beaten, it was understandable. He hadn't asked for this, he'd never wanted to get caught up in it all. Yet it was impossible for him to leave now, to abandon his friends when they were in danger.

“You should heal yourself or something"

“I'm fine, it's just a couple of bruises"

“He's right Stiles, you broke at least two ribs fighting that last alpha"

Derek didn't look at him as he finished up Lydia's hand and grumbled when she pressed a peck of gratitude to his stubble. Stiles huffed in frustration but sat back in the chair, wincing and hissing a little in pain. He lifted his baseball shirt up, pressing his hand to where the bruising was appearing on his diaphragm, whispering an incantation and coughing a little in an attempt to hide his discomfort when the bones fixed themselves in his ribcage.

“Dude, I don't get why you don't just heal Lydia with your juju,” Scott called from the living room, the atmosphere picking up a little now there wasn't the heavy weight of silence glaring over them.

“Because he's exhausted and shouldn't have even healed himself. His physical strength is low, he's not supposed to be performing magic when he's too tired"

Erica's voice was short and patronising and Scott pouted at her, narrowing his eyes.

“Stiles, bed, now"

Stiles opened his mouth to protest but was shut up swiftly when Derek near enough slammed his hand down on the table.

“Fine, I'm going to bed, chill yourself will you?”

Stiles' movements were spiky and irritable as he stood abruptly and stomped upstairs, closing Derek's bedroom door behind him.

“What are we going to do about him?”

Erica sighed, moving into the kitchen and standing closely next to Derek, pulling his arm around her waist and grabbing Jackson's hand, making him move so she would have something on a higher level to cuddle into.

“You're just going to need to be there when he panics in the morning. You're his friends, so be there for him; that's what friends do, right?”

* * *

 “Stiles. Stiles? STILES WAKE UP!”

Derek's voice blasted through his eardrums and Stiles flailed awake, sitting up fast, holding his hand to his heart as he attempted to get his breath back.

“What the hell man? Dick move!”

He squinted through his eyelashes and rubbed at his head.

“Whatever, your Dad keeps calling me asking me where you are so I told him you'd be staying here all weekend, okay?”

Derek chucked him a baggy black T-shirt and left the room.

Stiles drew in a deep breath, plonking his body back down on the bed and sighing, running a hand through his hair and staring at the ceiling. It was difficult to assess his own mental state this morning. His chest hurt and his ribs felt really stiff.

He wiggled his face around only to grimace in pain when the cut along the side of his cheekbone stung bitterly. He didn't want to think too much about the previous night; it was all too much to take in first thing in the morning and he at least wanted to make it through breakfast without having a panic attack. 

Something was different though. He could feel it in his bones, in his blood, in his heart. Stiles realised then that he was very grateful he wouldn't have to go back to his house until Monday; he didn't know if he could take even looking at his father to be honest.

“Stiles, breakfast!”

Lydia's voice rang from the kitchen down the stairs and he groaned, rolling sideways off the bed, pushing up on all fours, clicking his bones into place and standing up, stretching wide with a loud yawn. He pulled on the T-shirt Derek had thrown him and stumbled across the bedroom, following the scent of pancakes and honey as his stomach gave a welcoming grumble.

“Lydia Martin, I love you"

He squeezed her waist and pressed a rough kiss to her cheek when she handed him a plate. She pulled her bed hair up into a ponytail and joined Stiles as he sat down at the table with the rest of the pack.

“So what's the plan for today then?” Isaac asked through a mouthful of toast and bagel, downing half a glass of juice before putting more food in his mouth.

“Lounge around, movies, comfort food. I don't have any energy to terrorise town guys today"

Erica pulled her food apart absent-mindedly with her fingers before eating it.

“Stiles, you smell weird,” Derek said, and the whole table went silent.

“Uhh... I know. I haven't showered?” 

“No, I mean something isn't right. Why have all your injuries healed? They were there a moment ago in the bedroom"

Derek stood slowly and everyone was looking at Stiles now, who scoffed and shook his head, bringing a hand up to his face, splaying his fingers across where the gash was supposed to be. His mouth dropped open wide when he realised there was nothing there.

“Can witches heal automatically?” 

“No, the only thing I – we don't just... self-heal; we – they need to use spells, herbs, elixirs if we want to heal people, to heal ourselves. This is – this isn't supposed to-” Stiles began catching on his words and syllables under the scrutiny and Derek was grabbing him by the collar, earning himself choice swear words and a yelp. 

“Lift it up Stiles"

“What the fuck dude?”

"Your top, lift it up"

Derek swore loudly when he obliged, kicking his foot hard into one of the cabinets against the wall, putting a hole through it. Stiles made a distressed noise in the back of his throat, completely bemused at the sudden outburst. Erica was staring at him with wide eyes, Scott was slowly moving forward, transfixed on him; Lydia was clutching tightly at Jackson's knee, her mouth open as if she wanted to say something. Isaac was attempting to mutter soothing words at Derek who was now kicking things about in the living room and Boyd was gulping, putting his fork down and staring at the tablecloth, trying hard to process something. Allison just stared at the floor.

“Why is everyone looking at me like that?”

Stiles actually stomped his foot, growling and gesturing wildly for someone to explain. Scott took his shoulders tightly enough to hurt and looked him straight in the eyes, top lip twitching, nostrils flaring, pupils dilated, heart beat thrumming fast. 

Wait...

Shit. Fuck. Shit. No. No way. Heart beat? He could hear that? No... _fuck_.

He attempted to keep himself breathing slowly, pushing the sudden sickening thought from his head but failing, beads of sweat appearing on his forehead, choking on his own breath.

“Stiles man, you gotta calm down okay, you can't freak out about this, it's just – it's just a small bite okay and the alpha wasn't properly transformed when it bit you, none of them could have been so we don't know for sure – Stiles?”

Scott was cut off when Stiles gripped back at his arms, shaking his head, feeling the familiar tightening of his chest, the ice cold panic flooding through his nervous system, eyes watering and stinging as he gasped for air, trying to swallow.

“Stiles, breathe; its – man, you gotta breathe okay, c'mon okay, breathe"

Scott's voice seemed far away, drowned out by a blurriness fogging things around him, a million different things happening at once, a million different noises and images and _god_ it couldn't be true, it couldn't. He was Stiles. Human. For three years he had avoided it, resisted it, flipped it the finger and it was coming back to haunt him, to crush his lungs too, apparently, because he was most definitely having a panic attack.

“Stiles"

Another urgent, sharp voice broke through the sea of thickness around him and someone else was grabbing him, warm, strong hands clutching his face, trying to reach his attention, to reach rational thought.

“De – Der – I – _shit"_

He sobbed, shaking his head again whilst he focused on slowing down his heart rate, on bringing himself back to reality.

“You're _fine_ ; we've got you, you're good. Everything is going to be absolutely fine”

A firm, soothing tone brought his fast breathing down and he nodded, feeling the pressure on his throat lessening, the heat constricting and itching at his skin leaving slowly as he was helped to sit down.

“My gums – my gums hurt"

“That's normal... it's just your mouth changing to accommodate your – your – fangs. Also, your fingers will probably ache too; and your vision is going to go all cloudy and weird"

She took him through the paces, explaining what he should expect to feel in the next two days, how his body would change, what they would need to do to keep him safe. But it all sounded like jibberish to him, like she was speaking and he could hear her but his brain didn't recognise the words.

He was screwed.


	4. Igoring the Problem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So lets see how Stiles totally does NOT deal with the fact that he's a werewolf now. Enjoy and let me know what you think.

He spends the first few days doing little else but running.

He ran all day, all the way out into the reserve, around it, through it, and back again. He ran until it wasn't physically possible for him to run any further. He turned The Lion's Roar all the way up to the top volume, desperate for the burn in his muscles to sweat it all out, to push out whatever was waking up inside of him. 

On the third day however, he was sneaking out in the morning to run when he was intercepted by a hand on his chest between his pectoral muscles, palm resting directly over his heart. He froze, eyes still fixed on the ground where they had been before he had been stopped.

“Stop,” she told him, jaw tight, eyes narrow "just stoppit, stop running from yourself"

He swallowed the frustration curling in his stomach and lifted his head; just about able to make out Erica's face in the darkness of the early hours of the morning. If he tried, he could flash his eyes. They'd adjust perfectly and he would be able to see almost every line of her.

“You- you're all blaming yourselves for this, aren't you?” 

His voice was slightly higher than usual, breathy and surprised.

“You won't talk about it, you won't look at us, you won't even stay in the same room as us for more than a half hour. Its... look, its hard for us, okay? We can't smell or sense your emotions as easily as we used to be able to. You haven't said anything, Stiles. Have you even shifted at all? You haven't snapped or gotten angry about any of it. That's what's worrying us the most; you're normally so responsive and apart from your panic attack the other morning, you don't seem to be reacting at all"

No, he hadn't particularly reacted much to it; mostly he had completely avoided it. He'd avoided thinking about it, talking about it. And yes, he most certainly had avoided shifting.

“Excuse me if I'm still in shock Erica, but in case you hadn't noticed, I'm a fucking werewolf now _"_

As he hissed, his face contracted to move with the emotion in his voice. It was the most expression he'd shown for days. 

“Oh boohoo; it's very sad that Stiles Stilinski has lost some of his precious humanity, lets all sit around for another fucking week weeping over it and pining over you shall we-”

But she stopped dead in her tracks, taking a step backward, pupils flashing yellow in fear.

“What?”

He'd felt a small shot of anger; hot and electric and alluring to something inside his chest, in his blood, in his bones. Something _more_.

“Your – your eyes... they were red"

“No. God no, Erica, please don't do that; don't even – wait, red?” 

“Yeah... shit, Stiles, you killed the alphas you were fighting. You didn't realise it had bit you; and you killed it... you're...”

“He's an alpha as well"

A voice came from the bottom of the staircase behind them and they both whipped around fast to see Derek standing there, dressed in a t-shirt and loose pyjama trousers.

“B-But-”

“You're like... boss as well then. Does that mean-”

“It means whatever Stiles wants it to mean. The maximum alphas that work in a pack dynamic with betas are three, but more than one is rare and it hardly ever goes right"

Stiles closed his eyes, letting out a deep sigh and pinching the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb.

This was exactly why he didn't want to talk about it. Acknowledging it made it real, and he wasn't ready for that.

Oh god he was not in the right frame of mind for all of this.

“But I can't be an alpha! I'm not responsible for myself yet!"

“It's my fault, I know. You don't have to deal with anything you don't want to-”

“Oh shut up okay, I'm fed up of drilling it into your fucked up head that I walk into these situations by _my own choice_. I might have been human, but I'm not an invalid; I know what I'm getting myself into when I walk into this shit. I'm going for a run"

He shook his head, pushing away Erica's attempt at stopping him again. He regretted it immediately of course and had to force himself to stop properly, taking her hand solidly.

“Look, I'm tired, I'm fed up, I'm an alpha werewolf, I'm a witch, and I'm also part human. It's a lot to deal with and I'm only eighteen; just – god can we talk about this later, okay? I promise we can talk about this later"

Erica held his stare for a few moments, trying to gauge if it was genuine. Eventually she sighed and nodded, dropping her eyes and slumping past them both, going back to bed.

“Be careful. You're just as much a danger to yourself as you are to other people right now"

Derek's voice sounded just as he was about to close the door on himself and he paused, looking at him for a moment.

"I know. I - Derek, you should know, I never meant for any of this to happen and I know you tried to keep me safe so I wouldn't have to go through this before I was ready to. I just... thank you, for giving a shit. And I'm sorry. I'll... I'll see you later"

The door shut, and Derek remained in place, sat on the stairs with his elbows resting on his knees, truly fighting off tears for the first time in a long time.

* * *

“It is perfectly possible for you to be both a witch and a werewolf. The only situation where you would lose your magic is if you were to be turned into a vampire, in which case, you'd lose your connection with nature. In fact, Stiles, your magic may even become stronger; you're part wolf now, an animal at one with nature and the earth. You're something of an enigma; you may even be the only werewolf/witch hybrid in history"

Deaton lowered himself back into his spinny chair just as Stiles blinked hard, bare back slumped forward as he let the information sink in. 

“Listen though, it's not going to completely cure your issues with mental health-”

“Yeah, yeah I know; I'm still a chronic insomniac, still having panic attacks and all that jazz. That nifty little quirk hasn't fucked off yet"

“Actually; I've been looking for a herb to help with that. It took me a long time and I've had to bargain a lot of supplies with a witch coven over in England, but I have Black Cohosh for you. Leave it under your pillow at night and you should find your sleep improving"

Deaton smiled, going in his top draw and pulling out a long-ish piece of green stemmed plant with white features to it.

“Dude, you're a life saver"

Stiles grinned, slipping it into one of the bags he kept on his possession and stowing it in a pocket inside the backpack he had taken to school with him.

Yes, he was back at school. 

And he hated it. He had a new appreciation for Derek's resolve; he'd always thought Derek had been bad tempered and unreasonable, but really, with how incredibly bad teenagers smelt, particularly mushed together in an old building, he'd been decidedly well mannered. It was a cocktail of sweat, hormones, coffee, far too much fucking aftershave, and a pungent tang of angst that tasted like rotting eggs on his tongue when he breathed it in. Not to mention how jumpy the whole thing made him; between the teachers screaming, the kids incapable of ever shutting the fuck up, and the bell that went every damn hour, he felt like he deserved a damn sainthood for not mascaraing half the damn faculty before lunch time, and that was on a good day.

And the flashy eye thing, yep he really needed to get that under control too.

Stiles was... okay, so he'd love to be able to say that he wasn't an angry person, that he didn't have murderous urges more frequently than he'd like to admit, that he wasn't a little off the normal scales when it came to his moral compass; but it would all be a big fat steaming lie. And, as he'd expected but foolishly hoped otherwise, being a werewolf had only made that whole fucking flaw ten times worse. 

He didn't _want_ to hurt people. He didn't want to kill innocent people, or make his friends feel bad, or be one of those ten numbers coming through his dad's car radio. But it didn't mean he'd be able to stop himself if he got mad enough.

“Yeah man, it's just the full moon. We'll probably have to lock you up with Erica and Boyd for your first few, just till you figure out what your anchor is"

“Great, why don't we just break out the fifty shades of grey board game and build ourselves a playroom?"

Scott physically gripped at his knee to make him sit still, and he forced a growl down as the beta's claws pinched slightly either side of his knee cap. He grit his teeth and focused on not fidgeting or breaking Scott's arm in retaliation, hating himself for even having that thought in the first place.

“You're still running every morning, right?” 

“Yeah, three hours at the crack of dawn and then a four hour work out in Derek's man cave after school. I don't know why I'm so fucking restless all the time. I'm even sleeping better after Deaton gave me the black cohosh”

“You'll be okay after your first time Stiles, it gets better afterwards"

Scott smiled, letting go of his knee, but squeezing his shoulder lightly.

“You sound like my girly teen bff prepping me for my first time"

Stiles waggled his eyebrows suggestively. Scott rolled his eyes, pretending to urge as Isaac pursed his lips to stop himself from smirking beside them.

Stiles really hoped Scott was right; he didn't know how much longer he could take this.

* * *

The days that followed the bite were possibly the worst in Derek's life. Well, okay, maybe not the worst; he'd been through some pretty horrible days in the past. But this was definitely up there with them. He sent most of the pups home to their families once they had all healed, but Stiles stayed behind. He'd expected the house to be filled with the kid's loud music and ramblings, to wake up in the morning and have to sit and listen to Stiles babbling about his paper on male circumcision over breakfast.

But this was much, much worse.

Because Stiles Stilinski was quiet.

Derek woke in the morning to silence through the entire house, so just on the first day, he lay back and listened to Stiles' heartbeat, the rhythm of his breathing, the shuffle as he turned over in his bed across the hall before he sneaked out for yet another early morning run. And he wondered why he wasn't angry with the teen for being so fucking reckless. Derek tried his hardest to figure out why he hadn't gotten furious and threatened to rip Stiles' throat out, why he wasn't more livid about the way Stiles had done something so stupid all over again.

Then of course, he remembered that Stiles was a werewolf now. An alpha werewolf. One that could probably match him for strength and agility, despite not having a lifetime of strategic fight training. Ripping Stiles' throat out would be much harder than it used to be, and Derek just – he couldn't understand it. He couldn't wrap his head around it. Yappy Stiles. Skinny Stiles. Annoying, loud, obnoxious, human Stiles. An alpha freaking werewolf. 

It was giving him a headache.

It was only on the third day of explaining to Sheriff Stilinski why his son wasn't at home, that Derek really realised why he wasn't angry with Stiles. It was because Stiles was already angry enough with himself, he didn't need Derek adding to it. Not that he regretted it or anything, Stiles rarely regretted doing something selfless, because he didn't really have a choice in these situations, his personality kind of demanded it.

Derek pressed the red button on his mobile phone as he entered the house, dropping five bags of groceries in the kitchen and shrugging his jacket off, jogging silently up the creaky stairs – he had no idea why he didn't want Stiles to hear him, he just didn't. He was stopped in his tracks when he followed Stiles' sent to the bathroom and watched out of sight.

Stiles was slumped against the bath fully clothed, knees up near his stomach, head bowed. The strong smell of sweat and tears and stress hung in the room and it made Derek want to whine, his chest contracting painfully as Stiles' hands scraped through his hair over his own scalp, heart beat thudding near erratic, teeth biting down hard on his bottom lip.

Werewolves didn't get sick, although Derek highly suspected Stiles had felt like he could have been; why else would the young, newly transformed second alpha be curled up by the toilet at midday, pale, sweaty and gasping for breath.

Five minutes later, Stiles spoke.

“You better've got some proper meat dude, I'm having the bitchiest of cravings; I feel like a hormonal teen girl,” he huffed, swallowing heavily and wiping his tears stubbornly away from his eyes as though they'd offended him. Derek moved into the doorway as Stiles clambered to his feet and looked at him levelly, the perfect Stiles mask painted over his features. If it weren't for the blotchy redness around his brown eyes, Derek would even have said that everything was absolutely normal.

“There you go see, it's pretty easy to pretend your whole world isn't fucked up when you get the hang of it,” Derek grumbled, tilting his head the side slightly and studying Stiles' face, the determination in his jawline, the set line of his mouth in the crooked, cheeky bright smile the dumbass frequented. With an expression like that, it wasn't a wonder that so many people found it so easy to love the persistent little bastard that had wormed his way into Derek's life on Scott's arm.

“Meat?” Stiles simply said, ignoring Derek's acknowledgement of his emotional state. Derek sighed, rolling his eyes sadly for a moment before nodding.

“Yeah, I got two lots of lamb and some beef. You can have some later, I'm having my house invaded for dinner”

Stiles' eyes faltered for a moment before recognition flickered in them and they returned to normal.

“Right, it's pack night. Wonderful,” he remarked sarcastically, smile gone as he brushed past Derek to run down the stairs and dig into the shopping. Derek decided to let him get on with it for a while, sending a text to Scott instead, disliking the pain Stiles' obvious despair was causing him as an alpha, and not being able to do anything about it.

' _Scott, Stiles is being sad when someone isn't watching him. Do something about it.'_

* * *

_“_ See, it wasn't so bad,” Scott said, stretching out to physically impossible lengths and growling as his muscles un-knotted themselves and clicked back into place. Stiles was still splayed across the ground, half-awake and covered in his own blood.

Derek had, for some unfathomable reason, refused to listen to his pack when they'd told him to chain Stiles up like he had for Erica and Boyd's first full moon, and had simply locked him up in the basement. It hadn't been pretty. He'd nearly gotten out, and it had taken the entire pack to restrain him and get him in shackles. When they were still pups themselves, keeping a lid on it with their own shifts; it had been somewhat of a mess 

Stiles stumbled to push his weight up, coughing out a breath of pain as he collapsed again, groaning as he began to register the metallic smell on his skin, and the soreness of the faint red marks still healing on his arms and legs where he had been held down.

“Why didn't you just attach me to the wall in the first place? It would have been so much less stressful,” he croaked, accepting that he wasn't getting up any time soon and resting his head back, staring at the ceiling through half-lidded eyes.

“Trust me dude, it would have been just as messy and bloody; you'd probably have ended up breaking your wrists to get out of the cuffs anyway. And trust me, fixing broken bones, even when they heal in a couple of minutes, still hurts like a bitch,” Scott scoffed, taking pity on Stiles and crawling across the floor from his crouching position against the wall.

He'd been there all night, watching Stiles gnarl and snap and howl and gnash his newly powerful jaw; but he hadn't left, he hadn't abandoned his best friend. He remembered how awful it was when he'd first been bitten; Stiles had ignored him despite the horrible things he had said, despite the wolf acting up and kissing Lydia and all that, Stiles had cuffed him to the radiator and stayed. Granted, Scott had ripped the radiator from the wall and gone AWOL, but it was the effort that counted.

Scott hauled Stiles up into a sitting position, one hand on his back, one hand clutching his tightly. Stiles muttered a string of very inventive curse words, but Scott sighed, letting his breath puff out his cheeks before he sat back on his knees, Stiles slumped against him. Scott wet his throat and closed his eyes, pressing his palm against the space between his best friend's pectoral muscles and focusing. Slowly, he felt Stiles relax, the tension irritating his body leaving him. Stiles let out a small rattly breath, shaking his head softly.

“I'm supposed to be your second alpha man, this is supposed to be the other way around”

“Oh c'mon, we both know it doesn't work like that at all. Plus, please don't say that out loud, it creeps me out,” he shuddered as Stiles felt the majority of his aches seeping out through him via Scott's warm hand on his chest. It was true though. As second alpha or whatever he was, Stiles was responsible for the pack, therefore responsible for Scott. That had always been the case anyway, Stiles looked after Scott, made sure he got to school on time and didn't forget to eat his veggies. Not that Mama McCall didn't do all that of course, it was just that sometimes she wasn't there to, she worked late and at awkward times.

Now Stiles was really thinking about it though, seeing as he had nothing else to do until he could be bothered to get up and tell Scott to stop with the whole 'pain taking' thing, Scott had watched out for him his whole life as well. The bullying had never really been that big of a deal, Stiles was a likeable dude with flailing limbs and a bark to make up for his previous lack of bite; but when the bullying had been an issue, Scott would stamp it down fast. No one messed with him whilst Scott was around, and once they had been issued an official McCall warning, no one touched him at all.

Scott always turned up at the house when Sheriff Stilinski was on a particularly time consuming case, Stiles had never had to call his best friend to tell him he needed someone, he'd never had to do the whole awkward 'I'm really fucking lonely' thing; Scott would just ring the doorbell and barge his way in and eat all his food. Scott was stupid and adorable and he was a werewolf, and that didn't matter because he was Stiles' best friend, and they dealt with it.

But now Stiles was a werewolf too. Stiles was an alpha. He was a fucking alpha werewolf. He didn't know if he could deal with that, if he could even handle this pain every god damn full moon. So this was what it was like to have a period? He felt like he was PMSing, he was horny and scared and hungry and his bones were all creaky. Whoever the fuck said that full moons made wolves stronger, was freaking wrong. He made a point to apologise thoroughly to Erica and Lydia when he saw them later, for all the time of month jokes he had made over the years. He made a point to just go and apologise to girls everywhere.

“Alright, enough bro-ing out for this morning, help me up,” Stiles swallowed, nudging Scott in the ribs and holding back a whine at the lack of familiar body contact. Fuck, his pack instincts were starting to kick in. He wanted to pull his beta back down and bury his face in his t-shirt because underneath the blood from all the brawling and struggling last night and Scott's sweat – fucking yuck – he smelt like pack, and home and warm and... YAY LYDIA WAS COOKING PANCAKES AGAIN! He was suddenly a lot more eager to be up on his feet again, and he was half-tempted to say fuck it to his throbbing joints, and just sprint uber fast up the basement stairs and eat everything he could find in the kitchen.

But he nearly lost his balance again as he tried to take a step forward, and Scott had to help him up the stairs. This wasn't fair, werewolves weren't supposed to hurt, they were supposed to heal and run around growling and wearing leather jackets. Which reminded Stiles, he needed to get himself one of those.

“Good morning sweetie,” Lydia grinned widely as Scott dropped him rather ungracefully into his chair. Stiles had to repress a pining sound threatening to claw its way from his vocal cords when he saw Isaac wincing a little as he shifted to get more comfortably in his bar stool around the kitchen table. He smiled back at her weakly, dropping his eyes to the plate of honey covered pancakes in front of him, and the large cup of coffee beside it.

“How's the doggy hangover?” Erica flumped down next to him, pressing a kiss to his cheek and stealing a slice of toast from Jackson's plate, earning herself a death glare. Stiles didn't know how they weren't all either staying away from him, or pummelling the crap out of him; he had been pretty damn scary last night, from the snippets he could remember. It had been horrible, like he hadn't had control of his body. He had been really, really, really angry and terrified. And this frightening need to get everyone away from him had been screaming at his head from the inside. He didn't know how the cubs dealt with this all the time. He was on edge, unsure of everything.

Plus he had only spoken to his dad like three times in the last couple of weeks. Sheriff Stilinski just thought that Scott was having trouble with Allison again or something.

“If I ever make a comment about your time of month again, feel free to break my arm or something,” Stiles grumbled, tearing the first pancake in half and shovelling it in his mouth. Lydia nodded with a smirk and wrapped an arm around Jackson's shoulder, leaning into his touch. Erica let out a laugh and shook her hand, rolling her eyes.

“You're such a drama queen Stiles. You'll see pretty soon that something like that isn't too bad. You should have seen my first full moon,” she shuddered, swallowing deeply and grimacing, going back to stealing food from people's plates. She had a habit of doing that.

“Why, what happened?” Stiles frowned, looking at Isaac who was wearing an expression of extreme distaste, Boyd shuffling awkwardly in his chair beside him.

“Erica had to have the headpiece on,” Isaac explained, not making eye contact with her “and Boyd smashed up half the train wreck before he managed to hold him down”

“What about you?” Stiles wondered, popping more food in his mouth and giving Isaac his full attention.

“He was fine, he found an anchor straight away,” a gravelly, sleepy voice came from the doorway and Stiles' eyes snapped up to meet Derek who was leant against the doorway in sweatpants and an old kahki t-shirt. He kind of looked adorable with his bed hair and half-lidded eyes and Stiles would have teased him if he could really be bothered.

“Well, not straight away,” Isaac reminded him, fiddling with his fingernails.

“You pretty much did. You were awesome,” Erica smiled at Isaac softly, reaching out a hand to stop his little nervous tick. Stiles thought it was incredibly cute that werewolves could still be ridiculously bashful and embarrassed and if he was watching the pack from the window as an outsider, he would totally have made a puking motion and tutted.

“Well this is all very sweet and touching and everything, but I'm pretty sure my dad is going to be pulling his hair out, so I'm going home today,” Stiles announced, swallowing his last pancake and downing the rest of his coffee.

“Not like that you're not!” Derek snapped, pushing up and away from the door frame “you're covered in blood, you look like you just went ten rounds with _me_ ”

“I could kick your little werewolf butt”

“Stiles, you're a werewolf too”

“Whatever man, I could still beat the fuck out of you”

“Stiles!”

“Fine, showering. I'm going,” he rolled his eyes, pushing out from the unit, ignoring the aches flaring up again, and slumping out of the room as Derek went to the fridge to find his own breakfast. Stiles really needed some time out.

* * *

“Hey dad!” Stiles chirped, attempting to run straight through the living room and lock himself in his bedroom. His dad soon halted him however, grabbing him by the shoulders and making him look directly at him.

“Where the hell have you been?” he demanded firmly, still not letting Stiles go. He bit his bottom lip guiltily and put his hands in the pockets of the jeans Scott had leant him to go home in, nudging one foot against the other. 

“Uh... would you believe me if I told you that Scott got mono?”

“Stupid question Stiles. What do you think you're playing at? I haven't seen you properly in a fortnight!”

John 'Sheriff' Stilinski was brilliant at his job. He was empathetic, and he knew how to get people to shut up when he didn't need them to be talking at him. He also knew how to get people to confess everything he needed to know, which was why he was such a good cop. He was selfless and kind and surly and lonely and he loved his son more than anything that existed on the planet. He'd loved his wife too, he still did, but she was gone and he was married to his work. Not that he didn't make time for Stiles or anything, just that Stiles didn't put extra work on his father where he could help it. They had a unit, they were a team. They had to be really, for either of them to function properly. They had an honest father/son relationship and they looked after each other.

Which was why Stiles felt so fucking guilty when he told him that he'd been staying at Derek's because Isaac had man flu and no one else had been around enough to look after him. If there was one person Stiles hated lying to, it was his dad. But he couldn't drag him into it, it wasn't fair and he needed him to be safe.

“I don't buy it,” John frowned suspiciously, and Stiles shrugged, not making eye contact.

“I didn't ask you to. But you wanted to know where I've been, and I've told you. Can I sleep now? I'm really tired,” Stiles sighed, his eyes defeated and exhausted. What good was being a werewolf when you still got knackered out?

“Fine, but I've got my eye on you,” John warned, dropping his hands from Stiles' shoulders and throwing his jacket around his shoulders, clipping his gun into his belt.

“And Stiles?” John's voice called after him as he began to climb the stairs “you are okay, aren't you?” he asked, all accusations vanishing from his tone as he took on a worried expression. Stiles froze for a moment, realising he didn't have an answer. He always had answers.

“Sure,” he managed eventually, feeling the waves of concern radiating from his father as his heart skipped a small beat, breathing heavy “m'fine”

“Alright, well do some chores later, the house is a mess. Jim dropped your pay pack off this morning, its on the kitchen counter. I'll be back about 11:30 tonight”

“'Kay,” Stiles called feebly in reply as he fell through his bedroom door and slumped against it, closing his eyes and letting his body slide down to the floor, hands scraping through his hair. He was so stressed, he could actually smell it on himself.

Eventually, once he had succeeded in narrowly avoiding another panic attack, he dragged himself over to his bed, pulled his clothes off, and curled up underneath the thick, warm covers, closing his itchy eyes and slowly drifting off to sleep.

* * *

When he woke four hours later, Derek was sat at the desk rifling through papers. The top draw was open and three of the guns he kept spare were just visible beneath the boxes of wolfsbane bullets Allison supplied him with before he had ended up becoming a freaking werewolf.

“Man, you have got to learn what boundaries are. Didn't they teach you this at school? You can't just break into people's houses!” Stiles sighed, sitting up and rubbing his forehead, blinking his eyes so his vision cleared itself out and everything became breathtakingly defined again. He didn't think he would ever get used to that.

“I didn't break in, the window was open,” Derek replied without looking up from what he was reading. Stiles frowned, resting his spine against the headboard as he flexed out his fingers slightly, getting the blood running through them again.

“What are you reading? And that draw was triple locked, how did you get into it?” Stiles asked incredulously, watching his fellow alpha sieve through some different notes covered in Stiles' scribbly annotations before he got a hold of what he seemed to be looking for. He remained silent, apparently absorbed and concentrating on reading. Stiles rolled his eyes and slid out of bed, pulling his sweatpants up to his hips, not bothering with a t-shirt. Clothes were annoying him; he was buzzing with left over full moon energy and his skin was tingly and hypersensitive. He moved to stand behind Derek, reading over his shoulder. He felt a flicker of irritation from Derek as he put a hand down in front of him to steady himself, but disregarded it, focusing on what had him so interested.

“Wendigos?” Stiles' brow furrowed and he glanced sideways at Derek who was still skimming the writing over.

“Yes, Scott smelt something on his patrol earlier so I got him to describe it to me-”

“Oh man, Scott is terrible at identifying that stuff; he thinks I smell like freshly mown grass. Of course I smell like plants, I'm a mage, my main source of power comes from herbs,” Stiles remarked, sitting back on the spare spinny chair.

“I managed to decipher rotting flesh from his babbled mix of bullshit and it reminded me of something that was creeping around everywhere a few years back and I wanted to be safe”

“So you decided to ransack my rather depressingly extensive collection of lore to see if you could confirm a few of your suspicions. Well, if you think it's a Wendigo, the universe hates us because these things are a bitch to kill. Algonquian cultures suggest suicide or acceptance of death rather than cannibalism if you're starving, they think its better than ending up like these little bastards,” Stiles informed, shivering at the thought of it. He remembered looking it all up about a year previous and some of the drawings people had drawn of the creatures... well, they would be burned into his mind for a very long time.

“They're difficult to kill if you're human,” Derek stated, finally turning to look at Stiles properly. He could have sworn he saw his eyes glance down over his bare chest for a split second before he considered Stiles' face.

“They're difficult to kill, whatever you are. They have incredible strength and speed, and they're wild,” Stiles replied. Derek quirked one eyebrow in interest and nibbled on his lip slightly.

“Go on,” he said, gesturing for him to keep talking.

“They're associated with the winter. Old tales say that they're humans that camp out in the woods during the winter, and have their food supplies cut off, so they resort to cannibalism. Except, over time, it changes them. They lose their minds until they're not human anymore. They're monsters...” Stiles trailed off, looking very concerned and weary.

“Stiles, there's something you're missing out,” Derek prodded, looking his fellow alpha in the eye and holing his line of vision there as though he hoped he was sending some sort of telepathic message. Stiles sighed, scratching the back of his head.

“They die if they don't feed off humans. They stay in the woods forever, luring campers in, injuring them and... collecting them for hibernation,” Stiles cringed out his last words and Derek could feel the flicker of fear radiating from him.

Derek didn't like this at all.

“I'll get onto Danny, ask him to hack into the police records, see if there's a pattern of missing person's cases in the last few weeks or something. I need to go into town later and get some food though, and it's my patrol tonight, right?” Stiles said, sitting forward and clapping his hands together like he always did when he was devising a plan of action. This, Derek thought, was why Stiles was better as an alpha than a beta. He was instinctively maternal and selfless, he would die for his pack, and had a ridiculously useful ability of coming up with plans on the spot, whether they were dangerous or not. If Stiles had been turned, and remained a beta, he would really have clashed with him and it would not work in the slightest as a pack dynamic. Stiles was indeed a natural leader.

“Are you up to doing your patrol? You seemed pretty hurt this morning,” Derek frowned, watching Stiles' still slightly stiff movements as he jumped up from his chair.

“I'm good! Nothing a couple of hours sleep and some good grub wont solve. Don't worry; Deaton says its totally normal for this to be happening on-”

“On your first full moon. Right. Well, if you need me to take your patrol, just call,” Derek spoke stoically, breaking eye contact again and finding the floor very interesting.

“Hey man?” Stiles said, watching Derek's face as he struggled to regain himself like the dumbass always did when he was being forced into conversation or social exuberance “we're gonna be okay, aren't we? I mean, we can make this whole two-alpha thing work, can't we?” he asked, pulling out a plane dark blue t-shirt and some slim fit jeans from his wardrobe ready to put on after the shower he was now really eager to get to.

There was a good twenty seconds before Derek stood up from the chair and moved to the window before looking back at Stiles, a great expression of conflict in his eyes and adorable dimples that lay beneath the stubble.

“Do you trust me?” he asked, still not looking at him.

“Dude, I've known you for two whole years of the ridiculous and painful, of course I freaking trust you, I sort of have to,” Stiles scoffed, voice suddenly quiet and more hesitant. It didn't really sound much like him, and he couldn't really understand why.

Derek paused for a moment before nodding once “then it will work. I don't know how, but it will,” he said finally, lifting up the latch, pushing the window upwards, and jumping out of it with one easy drop, landing on his feet.

“Business as usual then,” Stiles huffed, flopping down to sit on the bed again, intending to try and calm himself again before he got in the shower.

* * *

Stiles' eyes snapped open and immediately his heart jumped violently in his chest, his stomach dropping as his acute stressors kicked in the noradrenaline flooding his body, flowing with the blood, his head pumping and throbbing along with a bitch of a headache. 

He was strapped up in the design of a crucifix, arms tightly tensed in both directions. He was shirtless, ankles in shackles that branched off into chains attached to the bloodstained concrete stone.

He concentrated for a moment on his senses, closing his eyes softly and focusing his hearing on faraway sounds. Apart from the ruffle of trees somewhere about ten feet above him, there was nothing. So he closed in the distance, pulling it in slightly. There was a low, raspy breathing and a slight shuffling. To his far left there were about two other breaths that indicated that his fellow captors were asleep.

It was times like this that he forgot about his superstrength and smell. But the sent of rotting flesh and blood and maggots... it was obnoxious, stagnant, demanding to be noticed, and for images to be placed in the minds eye to match. Stiles felt acid bile rise in his throat, but he swallowed it, blinking away the wetness in his itchy, tired eyes. He was covered in sweat and his skin was dirty, as though he'd been dragged through several acres of mud and shrubbery and his throat was dry and scratchy.

He wet his lips with his tongue and winced a little from how chapped and split they were. They healed over a second later. Somewhere in the hell hole he'd woken up in, a leaky pipe dripped repeatedly in a steady rhythm, like an impatient, possessed clock, time ticking away at him as his thoughts came pushing back through his mind and he remembered what he was up against.

The Wendigo was not in the facility.

Stiles swallowed and braced himself before he doubled back on his wrists and wrapped his hands around the thick rope keeping him strung up securely. He took a deep breath and yanked forcefully on both sides. The material snapped like it had been made of a single line of thread, and Stiles landed hard on the ground on his knees, back hunched, face tensed in agony as he realised his femur was at an awkward angle. The weak feeling in his body was because the bone was sticking out, keeping the cut open. The skin around it was desperately trying to heal itself, and it was still bleeding... heavily. Stiles grimaced, tentatively putting his finger at the top of the bone and pushing really hard. He had to force his teeth down on each other to stop himself from screaming in pain. But in a moment, the skin had sealed itself together again and he felt the slow burning of the bone setting itself back in position, realigning and meeting with the rest of his leg. It would take at least an hour for the bone marrow to produce enough red blood cells to make him properly strong again, but for now he could at least walk.

He stumbled sluggishly to his feet, pretty sure that there was a silver bullet stuck in his ribs. They weren't particularly poisonous or anything, but they were to werewolves what wooden bullets were to vampires, and Stiles despised the sharp stinging and stabbing they created shooting through his nervous system whenever he had been hit with one. He'd have to get Derek to cut it out for him later.

But for now, there were others in here. People. Innocent people with no super healing powers or strength to save their own asses. And suddenly Stiles was smacked in the head with an instinct that filled his mind with a warm feeling, his nails growing, eyes flashing, power rushing through his entire body, his muscles growing more solid. Wolf. The wolf was there in his mind, growling softly, quietly at his subconscious and elongating his teeth.

Well that was the decision made then. He was saving the other two people that the heartbeats belonged to and he was getting the fuck out of dodge.

* * *

Stiles was carrying a 150 pound dude on his right shoulder, and taking most of the weight of the guy's daughter on the left side of his body because her leg was broken. He was sweating buckets and was working really, really hard to ignore the fact that agony was vibrating through the entirety of his diaphragm. The humans he was trying to save weren't heavy as such, they just put pressure on the way the bullet was positioned against his rib cage and his body was practically yelling at him to do something about it. He was his own last concern right now however, the people he was trying to save were normal, run of the mill father and daughter; he could smell the innocence running off them. The girl was terrified and it was not making him feel any better about the situation. HE WAS TRYING TO ESCAPE FROM THE LARE OF A SUPERHUMAN CANNIBAL FOR GOD SAKE.

He did not remember signing up for this.

“What's your name?” Stiles asked to distract himself. The girl swallowed tightly, her grip on his waist tightening as she struggled to put less weight on her injury.

“Celie,” she breathed, eyes droopy, tear and sweat stains mixing on her skin as her hair stuck to her forehead. She was tall for a girl her age, slightly overweight but not too noticeable, and pretty with sparkling blue eyes filled with sticky tears.

“I'm Stiles,” he smiled reassuringly, eyes wide with adrenaline “we're gonna get you and your dad out of here, okay? Now, if that thing comes back, I'm going to have to put your dad down. What I need you to do then, is run-”

“But my dad-”

“I'll get him out okay, I promise. But if that thing does make a show of it, you have to run and you can't hesitate, okay?” he said clearly, his free hand pressing softly and comfortingly to the back of her head. He looked her directly in the eyes. She swallowed tightly and nodded, moving along, taking more of her own weight to help him out a little.

They walked for an hour before Stiles smelt it, the putrid waft of rotting skin and bone, the coppery, metallic breath of blood. Then a shuffling, and dull, thudding footsteps up ahead. His heart jumped in his chest but he quickly pulled the girl around the corner, pressing their backs against the filthy wall. He waited for a moment, but the footsteps didn't stop and the low, rattly breathing of the creature quickened. Stiles grimaced, drawing in a deep gulp of air, and settling the girl's father against the floor, back propped up against the concrete.

He turned to Celie, taking her face in his hands and making her look at him. She was silently sobbing, completely and utterly terrified.

“Hey, c'mon, you're going to be okay, but I need you to run for me now, okay? I need you to go-”

“Dad-” she whimpered, shaking her head. He tightened his grip on her face, pressing a rough kiss between her brows.

“I'll get him out, I swear to you, he's going to be fine,” Stiles knew he shouldn't be making that promise because there was no guarantee that he could keep it, but she needed to go and she couldn't carry her father with her.

There was a growl from in front of them and Stiles whipped around, flicking his fingers to extend his claws. He felt strength push through his jaw, his teeth getting longer, sharper. His knees bent slightly to brace himself, and the wolf became territorial, flowing through his mind, focusing him.

“Go,” his voice was low and gravelly as he snapped it sideways at the girl just as the Wendigo lurched at him, soft, stinking flesh flying in his direction, distorted face angered and wide. Stiles slashed it, throwing it sideways. Celie took off at a limping sprint down the tunnel the way the Wendigo had come, not looking back once, just like he had told her not to. She was probably in a horrible amount of pain with the broken bone in her leg, but it didn't matter, she was going to be alive, and that was all he cared about.

* * *

Two hours later, he stumbled from the cave, eyelids drooping, pupils rolling. He just managed to drop down Celie's father before he crumbled to his knees, blood tumbling from his lips as he coughed. His ribs were in agony, his body working to fight off the growing infection around the bullet hole that just wasn't healing. The Wendigo was dead, Stiles had slashed it mostly in half around the middle with his claws; not before the damn thing had repeatedly stabbed him in the gut with a blunt, random stake of course. Because he was still weak, it wasn't fixing fast enough, the blood was soaking his bare chest, dirt covering his face, jeans torn and muddy. He could taste it on his tongue, and he almost laughed at how only days ago he had been thinking about leather jackets and knotting – totally _not_ a thing by the way, he had checked thoroughly.

His vision was blurring, the exhaustion slowing his motor responses even through the whole heightened senses thing. He wondered briefly then, whether he could bleed out on the floor in the middle of a forest with his claws still extended. He couldn't gather the focus to push back the wolf, but he didn't have the strength to fully transform either. It sucked.

Everything fucking sucked right now. There was a guy dying on the floor beside him that would leave Celie without her father and the memories of a flesh eating superhuman that had caused it all; not to mention the werewolf that had failed miserably to save her dad, despite point blank promising that he would be able to.

Stiles was just thinking about how he could really, really do with some hagen dazz ice cream whilst his lungs were filling with liquid - and some strong whiskey - when there was a flash of light beside him, and familiar scent filled his nostrils, automatically calming the storm in his brain. A voice was cursing him and calloused, warm, strong hands were desperately feeling for a pulse, pulling him in close, becoming more frantic because of all the blood.

He was lifted then, in a bridal carry, his body limp and going numb... although that bitch of an ache across his ribs didn't fucking go away of course; and he half-mumbled about someone attending to the other guy on the floor, the human. He heard shuffling beside him, and his sinuses told him it was Scott. Erica and Isaac were covering them whilst Jackson and Boyd sprinted through the cave tunnels to check that the Wendigo was completely gone. It had to be torched in order to be killed properly, but Derek didn't stick around to listen to his betas disposing of the remains, and immediately set off as fast as he could without jolting Stiles too much.

Stiles decided that being a werewolf was pointless if you couldn't heal fast _all_ the time. Seriously? All the stress, the senses, the speed, the hormones, the bloodlust every full moon, the lying to his dad; and he doesn't even get the main benefit of being superhuman. Dammit. He would have actually preferred to be a vampire; that seemed a little more classy. Although, he didn't think he could deal with the constant need to suck the life out of every human in his company. Oh yes, he had heard the rumours about Stefan Salvatore; Stiles' workings with Bonnie Bennet had confirmed them. Actually, whilst he was thinking about it, he needed to send her some flowers for locating Erica and Boyd when the alphas had kidnapped them, her spellwork had been crucial. Also she was really awesome and badass and had once introduced him to Damon who was crazy hot, if completely and utterly terrifying.

“Shut up,” Derek's voice snapped and Stiles realised that he'd said it all aloud.

He was going to sleep for days after this, and if anyone dared to disturb him, he'd go all out alpha and castrate them violently.

* * *

“So help me one of these days I will literally kill the kid,” Stiles woke slowly and silently to the sound of Derek raging out somewhere. His head really, really hurt, his mouth was dry, his muscles didn't like him very much and he had in no way whatsoever slept enough. He didn't open his eyes, he didn't want to become aware of his surroundings dammit, couldn't the new teen wolf catch a freaking break from time to time? Stiles thought very much that he bloody deserved it. He deserved to eat lots and lots of meat from KFC, he deserved to sleep for three days, he deserved to take loads of showers and screw around on the internet and masturbate and maybe bug Derek some more about finally talking about that thing they had between them four months back. Stiles deserved a lot of things, and never seemed to get them. But, whatever, right? Because there were people a lot worse off than him. Yup. Definitely. Of course. He was being irrational and dramatic.

No, that was bullshit.

He really just wanted to be left alone to wallow in his self-pity and to lick his wounds.

“Stiles, we know you're awake,” Derek's voice cut through the barrier he had created for himself, and Stiles groaned loudly, simpering pathetically and blinking himself awake properly to make puppy eyes at his fellow alpha because Stiles kinda maybe just a little bit freaking adored the fact that _his,_ and only hispuppy eyes worked on Derek Hale.

“Don't even think about it. Sit up, I need to get this bullet out of your fucking ribcage”

“Language man, I'm in pain here”

“Shut up and sit up before I lose my patience”

“Excuse me, aren't we meant to be a team, which means you don't give me order-”

“Stiles if you don't sit up I'm going to call your father and tell him that you've been shot-”

“I'm sitting up! Jeez! You're crabby this afternoon, was it something I did?” Stiles teased, swallowing to wet his throat and putting his arms on the mattress either side of him, slowly easing himself up into a sitting position, wincing and panting. Derek growled. Stiles shut up.

He moved his legs over the bed to rest his feet down on the varnished oak floorboards and Derek knelt in front of him between his legs so he was level with his torso. Stiles held back a smirk when he caught a whiff of something Derek was not supposed to be smelling of considering the current situation. Good to know that their little 'thing' still had a stimulus.

“You're angry,” Stiles said, brow creasing more seriously as he watched Derek's claws elongate and dig in through the bullet hole in his ribs. Stiles gritted his teeth hard, gripping the sheets on either side of him. If he opened his mouth, he would scream out in pain, and the cubs didn't need to hear that.

“I'm furious,” Derek said in a low voice, ridiculously perfect jawline tense, eyes focused on his task. Stiles knew that look. If Derek looked up at him now, he would really lose his temper, and surprisingly it took a lot for that to happen on a large scale. He had seriously pissed him off.

“I'm fine, aren't I? Look, see, simple bullet, not a big deal at all. Plus I saved two people and killed the Wendigo. Job done. You don't have a reason to be angry-”

“You're my second alpha Stiles, I don't think you get what that means, if you die-”

“But I didn't!” Stiles exclaimed softly, having to shut his mouth again because the fucking pain was excruciating and he could still hear the pack downstairs sitting around waiting to have a meeting. Finally, Derek dug out the silver bullet, letting out a breath neither of them knew he'd been holding. The skin healed over and just like that, in three seconds, it was as if nothing had ever happened. Apart from the fact that he was exhausted of course, but that wouldn't take much fixing.

“Stiles,” Derek sat back on his knees, sighing, eventually finding the control to look his fellow alpha in the eyes “you are a second alpha, which means you're also their alpha. To them, you're on the same calibre to me, they need you. If you die, they will lose their minds,” Derek's face was more neutral now, and Stiles knew that he had found his anchor more solidly. It didn't make it any better. He knew what would happen to the pack if he wasn't there, he did; it would be horrible for them. He was like... well, he supposed that in a way he was like their father as well. Fuck, he was only eighteen. No way.

“I know,” Stiles said, wetting his lips and staring at the bedside table “I know. But I couldn't leave those people to die Der, I couldn't. I didn't have time to ring you once I'd found the lare and I couldn't risk the little bastard hearing me. I was fine, hardly injured-”

“Stiles you lost half the blood in your body, you nearly did die”

Then there was this silence. A silence full of unspoken words. Derek was watching him, Stiles could feel it and he was still knelt on the floor, not moving. Apparently he was just sort of there and it hurt more than it should really, to know that Derek was angry with him, that he had fucked up again because of his stupid fucking good intentions.

But he knew that silence, it always happened after something like this had occurred; Derek was blaming himself more than anyone else, he always did. And he was trying to wrap his head around the fact that Stiles nearly died... again. Stiles didn't know how anyone had ever said that Derek Hale didn't have a heart. In fact, one of the alpha's main problems were that he cared too damn much. Stiles had the same personality trait, which always made him wonder about what their relationship would be like if they really did re-address their almost fucks that had been apparent before the alpha pack had hit town. Would they be too similar? Too destructive? Stiles just didn't know. It frightened him, if he was being honest. But then again, Stiles didn't consider something worthwhile unless it terrified him at least a little bit.

“They want to know you're alright,” Derek's voice was croakier this time, and once again, he refused to make eye contact as he stood up to his full height again “you can stay here tonight, if you don't want to go back and lie to your father again,” he turned and left the room. Stiles let out a breath of angst, running his hands through his dirty hair and flexing and unflexing his hands.

After three minutes, he decided that whatever issues existed between him and Derek weren't a priority over the betas and his friends. They were probably pining a little now, so he cleared his throat and stood up, stealing a top from Derek's drawer and pulling it over his head, allowing himself a moment to enjoy the fabric settling over his body, and the scent washing over him.

Man, he really was screwed.


	5. 'just friends'

“Woah there,” Lydia spoke first as he entered the living room, eyes widening, teeth nibbling her bottom lip as she looked him up and down. He smirked at her as he plonked himself down on his designated armchair.

“You like?”

“I like very much" 

“Careful, Jackson will threaten me, and I've already been arguing with Derek all morning. It's funny, being second alpha doesn't mean I get thrown into wall any less apparently,” he remarked, rubbing the ghost of an ache at the back of his head where it had slammed against the solid surface just that morning. Derek was not happy with him, they were still fighting and it wasn't getting much better. Stiles didn't miss the spark of arousal he smelt when Derek walked in however and Jackson awkwardly cleared his throat. Stiles swallowed and sat up, cheeks flushing with colour as he smiled at their alpha.

“It’s against his instincts, he’s not allowed to hurt you, his wolf will self-destruct,” she scoffed.

“Doesn’t mean he wont try. And that only works if I shift and make him submit, and I won’t because it creeps me out too much, I don’t like the power”

“Don’t be such a dumbass, there’ll be a time when you will have to use that shit-” Lydia was cut off by Derek’s entrance to the room, and Stiles diverted attention.

“Am I off the hook yet?-”

“No,” Derek's voice snapped fast and choppy, but there wasn't as much maliciousness behind it as there had been the last couple of days.

“Whatever,” Stiles sighed as Erica bounced into the room and dropped into his lap, resting her head against his shoulder blades. They were scenting him again after all the blood from the Wendigo's lare had killed the pack essence on him, and it was kind of really adorable that they were cuddling into him at every chance they got. He was still repressing the whole 'pack daddy' thing though, so he was totally not admitting it out loud.

“Someone's happy,” Stiles remarked, grinning at Erica. She nodded once, looking very smug.

“I warned off the bitch that's been trying to get her claws into Boyd. I'm feeling triumphant,” she replied, biting on her bottom lip with glee. He chuckled, shaking his head and sitting back more against the cushions.

“I remember when Emily Smith tried flirting with Jackson,” Lydia said in a dramatically nostalgic voice. Stiles smirked, knowing that the girl was probably either dead or had left town out of terror “I put itching powder in her knickers and put sulphur in her clothes to make her smell. I stopped the name calling after a couple of weeks, nobody likes a bully, but she didn't even talk to him again after that; I think she was frightened I'd moltov her.”

Stiles was sure even Derek cracked a small smirk then, a look taking over his eyes that made him wonder what the alpha would do should someone begin flirting with Stiles. They weren't together or anything, but there was something between them; and Stiles knew he wouldn't be sleeping with anyone else or dating anyone else for the moment.

“What's our next line of duty then chief?” Erica asked Derek. He tensed for a moment, letting out a soft sigh and sitting back, shrugging.

“Nothing. I want you all to relax and enjoy the fact that there isn't a murderous cannibal running around the forest stocking up on food supplies. You're still kids, right? So do... kid stuff,” Derek said awkwardly. Stiles was trying not to laugh because seriously? 'Kid stuff' oh dear lord he literally was terrible at the whole 'go be free puppies' speeches. Although, he had to admit, Derek was an incredibly better alpha compared to what he had been like the previous couple of years.

“Well I'm intending to eat a lot of junk food. Anyone up for movies and pizza all day?” Stiles suggested, fingers playing absentmindedly with Erica's hair. There was a sudden upload of enthusiasm as everyone loudly stated their agreement. Derek rolled his eyes, but looked much more settled as Stiles shuffled around for his phone in his back pocket, and sent texts to Boyd, Scott and Allison (uggh it was so sickeningly adorable that they came as a unit), and Isaac who was in town looking for a car of his own.

He then scooted out from under Erica and moved to drive home to get some DVDs from his house, not without tripping over the table and hitting his knee on the TV first of course; nice to know that being a werewolf hadn't taken away his clumsiness and lack of hand to eye co-ordination when he wasn't paying attention to what he was doing. Derek stopped him near the front door however, moving so that Erica and Lydia, who were now bickering about whether or not Benedict Cumberbatch was too horse-faced to be attractive, couldn't hear them very well.

“Dude, we are not arguing anymore, I hate arguing with you, I'm fed up from this morning, I just want to enjoy-”

“I'm not going to argue with you,” Derek interrupted, looking very uncomfortable and tired “I just wanted to tell you that I know we need to talk about... well, you know what we need to talk about. So tomorrow morning after you're done with your run, we can... talk about... stuff”

Stiles was struggling to keep a straight face again, having to force the muscles around his mouth not to twitch into a smile of amusement and fondness. Oh the joys of having an almighty crush on the most emotionally constipated werewolf possibly in existence. It was also hilariously ridiculous that Derek was actually proposing that they 'talk' because if there was one thing Derek Hale hated and thought was absolutely unnecessary to evolution, it was talking.

“Right, okay, sure. Don't like, give yourself an aneurysm or anything, I'm not that scary,” Stiles finally let himself grin, rolling his eyes and affectionately tapping the left of Derek's face, before sprinting down the porch steps and jumping in his Jeep. Derek let out the breath he'd been holding and cursed his hostile personality for a moment. On the contrary, to Derek, the prospect of Stiles Stilinski was completely and utterly terrifying.

* * *

 

It turned out to be a pretty damn awesome day. They lounged about on the sofas watching the Star Trek movies and chatting animatedly before moving onto the X men and Marvel films, fighting about transitions and swaps from the sofas to the floor. They had to call in three pizza runs because, hello, hungry werewolves and meat feast toppings? Also the pizza guy was hot and Stiles enjoyed listening to Derek growl every time he answered the door and gave the dude his brightest, most charming Stilinski smile.

When it got to seven o'clock in the evening, they were onto chick flicks and, much too poor Jackson's dismay, The Notebook had been played on the screen, Rachel McAdams' ridiculously defined cheekbones kicking it in every shot. Marley and Me brought about an onslaught of tears, sobbing and manly sniffs of pain – yeah right Derek, you're not fooling anyone.

Stiles decided it was time for a Friends boxset marathon to cheer them up, and when he sat back down, he threw his legs over Derek's lap, settling his feet on Isaac's thighs, and getting comfortable. Stiles got into an argument with Jackson who compared him quite accurately to Chandler, and Scott who decided that Jennifer Anniston 'wasn't even that hot'. Stiles was a flaming homosexual, but Jennifer Anniston was fucking gorgeous and no one insulted her beauty in his presence. Derek sulked for an hour after Stiles said he was similar to Mr Heckles.

Around eleven, after they had gotten through two of the Harry Potter films, and Stiles was done echoing the words as the actors said them, half of them were asleep. Allison's eyes were drooping on a snoring Scott's shoulder, Erica was sound asleep curled up against Boyd on the floor, not twitching or having any nightmares for the first time in a long time. Derek was staring into space in thought, hands rested softly on Stiles' knees, heart beat slow and steady, contentment rolling off him in gentle streams of scent.

Lydia was slapping Jackson every three minutes to stop him from snoring, and Isaac was in rem sleep against Derek's collar bone on the other side, eyelids quivering, lips pursed tightly together. Nobody commented on Isaac's nightmares, Derek was the only one who knew the true nature of them, and he dealt with that with the beta privately, dismissing all speech when asked to reveal what truly went on in Isaac's head when no one could read his expressions. Stiles only hoped, as second alpha, to eventually receive that same level of trust.

No one moved to switch off the TV when the end credits rolled in, everyone was too comfortable, too immersed in their dreams, or too deep in subconscious thought to bother. Stiles didn't mind pack silence, that was when everyone was most honest actually. Heartbeats could be heard clearly, pulse patterns, scents; emotions could be felt in a circle only they could really feel. Even Lydia and Allison, the humans, could sense a wordless conversation when they were this calm. Sometimes it frightened Stiles, how well he knew these people, how profound his connection was with them, how much he loved them all, every single one of them, individually in different ways and for different reasons. But it made them strong, it made them strategic, trusting, safer. Stiles was still struggling to come to terms with the fact that he was a werewolf, but it was moments like this that made him appreciate the finer points of it, how humbling and soft it could be.

The light of the TV against the aphotic room was giving him a headache so he clicked his fingers and the TV shut out, the screen going blank, submerging them in a cocooned blanket of darkness.

 "It’s so weird when you do that,” Derek's voice said beside him. Stiles smiled slightly, raising one eyebrow.

“Pretty cool, right?”

“Scary”

“You're only saying that because I can create a blood clot in your brain that can kill you in seconds, just by looking at you”

“No I'm saying it because it's weird, two years of thinking that you were just this annoying energetic kid that hung around on Scott's hip whilst we tried to get rid of Peter and the Kanima, and you were a mage all along. None of us had any idea. And now you're a werewolf too. I'm just saying, it’s weird”

Lydia's breath had evened out and Jackson was snoring lightly again, Allison was sleeping too, which was probably why Derek was actually speaking in full, honest sentences; because the lights were off and it was just Stiles that could hear him.

“Man, you think it's weird, try _being_ me, I'm still freaking out about it all! But I'm like a mix between Harry Potter, and Mason Lockwood, and that is damn awesome I think,” Stiles was making fun of it of course, because that's what he always did when something was messing with his head, he joked about it and pretended it was all okay.

"I'm just saying, it's... it's not where I'd have expected to end up, all this, if someone told me this would be our life two years ago, I would have punched them in the face" 

“Back when you hated me,” Stiles smirked, shuffling his legs because they were going a little numb. Isaac didn't even stir.

“I didn't hate you Stiles,” Derek replied in a bored voice “you were an annoying little shit and I was... venting”

“I'm still an annoying little shit,” Stiles considered, frowning a little at the outline of Derek's face.

“Yes you are,” he agreed “but it's different now. We're all different. I thought we were talking about this in the morning,” he suddenly said and Stiles shrugged, leaning his head against the back of the sofa.

“Night time makes people more real, it's sort of like being drunk without the haziness, it's like a safety net,” he said, breathing out a sigh and swallowing, wetting his dry lips.

“I don't like night time”

Of course not, Derek's head was somewhere that was dark 70% of the time anyway, he was a haunted guy with a lot of guilt and fear, why would anyone with that many crepescular thoughts enjoy a time when the world around him matched up to the colours in his mind? Night time was the time when demons came out to stab at you and remind you of the things that hide in the back of your psyche. But he knew it was better when the pack were around, when there was a presence to keep the demons at bay.

“Not a lot of people do. Honesty is scary, even for the most open people – holy fuck okay I'm going to stop right there before I end up like John Green on crack”

Derek's breathy chuckle could be heard as more of a twitch of amusement rather than an actual laugh. He was too peaced out to really start laughing. Stiles was too. There was this thing between them again, something there waiting to be acknowledged, a hovering little light that was on the verge of being let out of the jar. Surprisingly Derek caved first.

“It's confusing,” his voice was gravelly, but solid and flowing and clear and Stiles' chest flipped, his breath quickening slightly. This conversation was genuinely about to happen.

“ _You're_ confusing,” he corrected himself slightly “I don't know what it is – well, I do know, I just don't want to know – fuck!” he cursed. Stiles drooped his head forward loosely, nodding. He knew that feel.

“It’s not that I don't want to know, it’s that it scares the shit out of me Stiles. You're – you know you're important to me, you know that and you've been aware of it for almost a year now okay but – I – uggh it's so – I'm over complicating it, I get that. I don't know how to _not_ overcomplicate it, this doesn't happen very often for me, I don't really care about people the way I care about you, and there's – there's a reason for that, and you get that right? You get why this is so difficult for me to come to terms with?”

Stiles drew a shaky breath in and nodded again. He moved his legs around so he was sat up properly.

“I do. I know man. You are supposed to trust me though, I'm your right hand guy, right? Okay that was not supposed to be an innuendo. Let me rephrase that. I'm supposed to be your second alpha, we're a team, we run this pack together and even before that, we were friends, the unfortunate duo, partners in crime, whatever the fuck they were calling us, we were. And I know friendship is always easier than... than something else. But the truth is we're not 'just friends' and we haven't been for a while, and I don't think we ever will be”

There were a few moments of silence again, where Derek seemed to soak up the words and turn them over in his that marvellous head of his. Stiles knew it wasn't really that Derek didn't trust him, it was that the guy just didn't trust himself. Derek had a hard time believing that he deserved the pack, let alone anything else that would bring him happiness.

“We should get everyone to bed,” Derek said after a little while, and Stiles realised that would be all for the night. Maybe tomorrow they could talk about it a little bit more, but right now it was late and if they left everyone where they were, they would all wake up with cricks in their necks.

He nodded again, putting a hand on Derek's knee to pull himself up, before moving to nudge Scott.

“Buddy, it's half-eleven, you should probably go home now, I know your mum was expecting you,” he said in a soft voice. Scott stirred, rubbing his eyes and blinking them open. He looked at Stiles for a second, processing him, before nodding, pressing a kiss to Allison's forehead to wake her up and drive her back to the McCall residence so they could sleep properly.

Derek woke Isaac and sent him to bed and Stiles pressed a hand to the side of Lydia's face, stroking her cheekbone. She slowly opened her eyes, frowning at him for a second. She sat up a little, nudging Jackson hard in the ribs, smirking when he swore loudly at her, but helped her up off him gently nonetheless.

Boyd moved awake to the sound of everyone else fidgeting about, collecting their belongings, and thus, Erica groaned and rolled away from her boyfriend, clawing her way over to the sofa so she could stand up numbly. They retired to bed a couple of minutes later, and Derek saw everyone out.

As Jackson drove off with Lydia in the Porche and Scott rumbled off in his mother's vauxhall, Derek walked Stiles to his Jeep. Stiles turned after unlocking the door and smiled smally, fiddling with the keys in his hands.

“You still want me to come over tomorrow morning?” he asked, raising one eyebrow and shifting around on his feet, energy refraining from keeping him still even when he was tired.

“Yeah... drive safe, okay?” Derek said, finding the floor very interesting. Stiles opened his mouth slightly, lifting his chin and rolling his eyes, shaking his head with a smile.

“You are absolutely terrible at this, you know that?” Stiles chuckled, nibbling on his bottom lip. Derek's brow furrowed and he pouted, huffing slightly.

“I'm trying! It’s you! You make me all... yeah. Well, like I said, confusing. Now get in the god damn car and go away, my head hurts from thinking too much,” he whined. Stiles laughed again, smiling even wider at the way Derek's heart stuttered and he looked away awkwardly.

“C'mere,” Stiles tutted, grabbing the back of Derek's neck and pulling him in for a tight hug, taking in the warmth and the scent. He nuzzled his face in Stiles' shoulder for a second before he pulled away, Stiles still smiling gently as he climbed into the seemingly invincible car that had survived so much, watching it drive away down the path into the trees.

Yup, he was officially terrified.

* * *

It was eight o'clock the next morning when Stiles sprinted up to the Hale house, covered in sweat, stinking. He was a little tired, having been up at five in the morning to run the entire stretch of the Beacon Hills reserve. What, okay, the Adderall hardly worked for him anymore now his stomach had extra clever healing powers that meant pretty much any foreign substance containing a drug or depressant, got obliterated the moment it went down his throat. He had to take six tablets to calm down when he was going through a panic stage. Other than that, the only thing he could do to stop himself ripping his own skin off because it was itching and buzzing with energy, was to run for as long as he could. Pretty much any exercise actually. He still went for a regular run every other morning, and kept to the routine Derek had set for him before all this, including a few hours in Derek's little gym room on the top floor. 

“Yooohooooooooooooooo! Rise and shine buttheads,” Stiles called through the house with a shit eating grin on his face, getting a string of very inventive swear words from Erica who he could hear rolling over and shoving her head under the pillow from downstairs. He went straight to the kitchen, pulling an ice cold water bottle out and downing half of it the moment the liquid touched his lips.

“What the fuck kind of time do you think this is?” Derek grumbled, stumbling into the room, hair all messy on his head, t-shirt skewwhiff, pyjama pants wonky and loose on his hips. Stiles pursed his lips, swallowing hard and blinking a few times to remember that he hadn't just stepped into a professional porno or a photoshoot for GQ.

“I call it morning. Just because you're an unfit old man, doesn't mean I have to be too. I'm the cool dad, gotta keep up my image, you know?” he retorted cheerfully, recovering from the momentary shock of adorableness and arousal that had shot through him so that Derek wouldn't smell it. He doubted that he'd covered it up though, Stiles was an eighteen year old kid with ADHD, he was in a constant state of arousal around Derek Hale, and was at loss to explain how everyone else wasn't. He sat himself down on the stool for a moment around the kitchen island, watching Derek turn the kettle on for his morning coffee.

“I suppose you're going to be spending the next three hours making use of the three thousand dollar gym room I paid for,” he said, voice gravelly. He cleared his throat, grimacing when he caught a whiff of his own breath.

“If you're whining about me not paying a penny for it, I'm going to invoke my fellow alpha rights. Not that I need to of course, you couldn't say no to me if you tried, I'm adorable”

“No Stiles, you're just annoying,” he replied. Stiles feigned dramatic offence, clapping his hand to his sweaty chest, dropping his jaw and glaring playfully.

“I'm hurt Derek, I'm really hurt. I thought you were nicer than that”

He didn't think that, for the record. Derek Hale was not very often a nice guy at all really, especially not in the mornings. But the dude had his moments. Moments where he would laugh involuntarily at one of Stiles' ridiculously cheesy puns or jokes or innuendos, and it would be a proper laugh, a true one with unfairly white teeth and squinty eyes and all. Moments where he could see the genuine concern and fear that came from being the alpha of a pack of teenage werewolves. Moments where he would try his utmost hardest to push through uncomfortable situations if it meant it would make the people he loved happy. Derek wasn't necessarily a nice man, but he was definitely an undoubtedly good one.

“You'll live,” he said sourly, turning back to his coffee making when the kettle pinged and he poured the steaming water into the mug, stirring it with a teaspoon and sitting down opposite Stiles, very interested in his drink.

“You are so not a morning person,” Stiles teased, rolling his eyes. Derek didn't say anything, but that was common, Derek didn't talk much anyway, the last couple of days had been quite a shock to the system. Well, actually, now Stiles thought about it, Derek had been talking more in the last year or so, he seemed to come out of his shell. Yes, he was still a steaming pile of emotional baggage, but the pack had done wonders for him and the fact that Stiles could even make him laugh at all was a massive improvement seeing as all the dude had done when they had first met, was growl, lurk and frown a lot.

“So you know we were going to have that talk this morning? Should I work out first so you can you know, pull yourself out of sourpuss mode, or are you okay now-”

“I'm fine. I'm just... let me wake up first. I can't believe you made me get out of bed at eight in the morning on a Saturday. Aren't you supposed to work today anyway?” Derek said, gritting his teeth and asking a question to distract himself.

“Yeah, not till midday, and I'm working the night shift too so Jimmy is paying me extra,” he chirped happily, forcing himself not to fidget in his seat too much. The full moon was in a couple of days, so he was extra on edge. A few hours running wasn't enough to calm him down so that he could work in a café with customers, it was why he needed to do the gym room on top of the track run, so he could sweat it all out. Plus it made him feel even more powerful when he had some meat on him. He would always be lanky, he knew that, he wouldn't be all beefy like Derek or Danny, but he had strength in his joints and muscles now. The werewolf thing helped of course, but he was a _better_ werewolf, and Stiles always liked to be the best of himself.

“Well make sure you're over here for lunchtime tomorrow; you know what you were like last time before the full moon, and it is only your second one, we'll probably have to chain you down again,” he sighed, squinting one eye and rubbing his hand through his hair.

“Learned your lesson have you?” Stiles replied distastefully. The fiasco last full moon had actually been partly Derek's fault, Stiles had no problem saying that. He had been adamant that Stiles would be okay without the chains, that he wouldn't go crazy and try to kill everyone.

“I don't like doing that to you Stiles, I remember what it was like being tied down as a new wolf, and it’s not a fun experience. It's horrible, the wolf-”

“Yes thank you, I remember,” Stiles stopped him, cringing a little and paling.

“You just need to find your anchor, that's all. Once you've done that we can run as a pack, you'll even be able to keep from transforming on a full moon, if that's what you want, especially as an alpha. Don't stress out too much,” he said, seemingly to convince himself more than anything. Stiles nodded passively, drinking some more of his water. They sat in a comfortable silence whilst Derek consumed his coffee. Afterwards he got up and began making himself an omelette.

“I don't really know what I'm supposed to say,” Stiles huffed eventually, playing with the label on his water bottle. Derek plated his breakfast but didn't sit back down. He simply looked at Stiles for a while before he rolled his tongue around his mouth and shook his head.

“You're not supposed to say anything. I'm supposed to talk, that's the problem. You're basically waiting for me to sort myself out. You... I don't even know”

“Seriously dude, relax, I'm not going to pull out my dad's gun and shoot you in the head. Look, it's a simple equation, I'm attracted to you, that much is obvious, you're attracted to me... at least I think you are, considering that you're losing your mind over this a little. So what the hell is stopping this? I mean, everyone already thinks we're dating, wouldn't it be nice to not correct them for once?”

Once again, Stiles made an easy point, made it all seem so fucking simple, so uncomplicated. But it came down to the fact that if Stiles was his friend, Derek could keep himself protected. As a friend, if Stiles died, it would just be losing another blip of light in the sky. But if he let Stiles in, if he made himself vulnerable – which was required in a relationship – if he allowed himself to fall for Stiles, he would be losing so much more. That had always been Derek's problem, he loved too fiercely.

Oh who the fuck was he kidding? Those words from last night were floating around his brain, chanting a mantra 'we're not 'just friends' and we haven't been for a while, and I don't think we ever will be' of course Stiles was more than a friend to him, he'd spent more time with him over the last two years than he had with most of his pack; they had gone from enemies, to reluctant allies, to sarcastic acquaintances, to respective comrades, to friends, to best friends. And somewhere along the tight rope, the line between friends and something more had been blurred. He remembered what it was like to kiss Stiles, like things sort of fell into place, but numbed out at the same time. It was clichéd, and he could feel the ridiculousness of the situation rolling off his own brain; but he didn't think he had ever felt anything hotter or more erotic and right, than having Stiles' hands grab at his hair, or his lips against his own.

“Seriously dude, we're trying to have a serious conversation here!” Stiles exclaimed, dropping his head to bang against the counter. Derek flushed red, and he could smell his own arousal along with Stiles'. God they weren't good at this restraint thing. They never had been.

“Sorry! I'm sorry, I'm just trying to sort through it all. I hear you, I do. I just... what do you want from me?”

Stiles paused for a moment, drawing in a stressed breath, pressing his cold bottle against his face to cool it down.

“I want us! That's all man, it's not like I'm asking you to sign your soul over to me or anything, it's not a freaking marriage proposal, we don't even have to be official, we can do the whole date thing first if you want, I don't even care. I just think...” Stiles broke off for a moment, breathing slowly, knowing this required patience “I just think we have the potential for something kinda awesome here and I don't think we should ignore that just because we're a little scared”

Once again, there was a silence as Derek thought about what had been said. Slowly, it was becoming apparent that Stiles would not always have to do all the work in the relationship, or whatever it was that they had. Derek was seeing clearer now, it worked both ways and Stiles wouldn't wait for him forever.

Well, actually, he probably would, but it would be exhausting and painful and Derek wouldn't make Stiles do that, he couldn't.

“Next Monday,” Derek's voice slid through the quiet that had laid itself between them and Stiles frowned, quirking the top left side of his lip “if you come over next Monday, we'll do something,” he said, chest getting slightly bigger as he drew in a steadying breath. Stiles' lips parted a tiny bit and his eyes widened for a second.

“Like a date?” he asked apprehensively. Derek and his many words, always so stimulating. Stiles nearly rolled his eyes at the vagueness of half the words that came from his fellow alpha's mouth.

“Yes,” Derek said, biting on the inside of his mouth “like a date”

“Took you long enough,” Stiles' lips split into a grin and he swallowed, letting out an exhalation of appeasement, his shoulders visibly relaxing.

“Shut up and go do some exercise before Erica gets up and beats the shit out of you for waking her up,” Derek responded, flushing when Stiles jumped up from the stool and pressed a rough kiss to his cheek before bouncing up the stairs. Derek wondered if he had put the young alpha in a mood that would have him singing and running around the café for the rest of the day; he made a note to apologise to Stiles' boss next time he was in town. For now, Derek had taken a step into the deep end, and he realised, with another insufflation, that it wasn't as shatteringly unnerving as he thought it would be. He had set himself up for it, now he just had to make sure he didn't fuck everything up. Now for the difficult part.

* * *

“But Stiles, _bacon,_ ” John Stilinski said exasperatedly, an air of desperation in his eyes. Stiles smirked at him, looking him straight on.

“But Dad, _heart disease,_ ” Stiles reciprocated mockingly, popping a curly fry into his own mouth and grinning innocently, sipping at his soda and munching on part of a chicken kiev. John grumbled, glaring back at his son as he poked at his potato salad with his fork distastefully 

“You're mean”

“No, I'm your son who doesn't want you to die before you're eighty. Now shut up and eat your rabbit food, prissy,” Stiles winked, downing some more of his drink.

“So about that burglary at the town library a couple of days back-”

“How the hell do you know about that?”

“Intuition”

“Bullshit”

“I listened to your radio-”

“Stiles!”

“Dad!”

He sighed tiredly, finally deciding to put some of his food in his mouth before chewing a little, looking at his son with contempt, groaning when Stiles pouted and made puppy eyes at him.

“It's not a big thing, we're dealing with it,” John said capturing Stiles' full attention immediately “but we don't really understand it. They stole an entire collection of lore books, some of them were worth a lot of money,” he explained, forehead tensed. Stiles knew his dad hated things that didn't make sense, although in Beacon Hills, not much did, so they were sort of used to it by now.

“Well did you get any prints or boot marks?”

“We got nothing, they've covered their tracks like a pro, the CCTV was down for maintenance. It's freaking unlucky actually, almost like it wasn't a coincidence. But there's... there's something else,” John said, swigging at his coffee.

“What?”

“The librarian has gone missing. She's not at her apartment, it hasn't been slept in and her parents in Oklahoma haven't seen or talked to her at all. I mean, the library was broken into at night, so the librarian wouldn't even have been there, so she wasn't in any danger, which made me think that if she's been kidnapped, it had to be because she knew too much about something to be allowed to stick around.

My bet is that there's something more to the lore books being stolen, and the librarian told the burglars about the CCTV cams being down, so they took her to get rid of any creases in the sheet,” John was good at his job, and had probably made all these logical assumptions within the first hour of arriving on the scene two days previous.

Stiles had wondered for a while whether he might ever want to follow in his father's footsteps. That was however, before he discovered his creative tap, and taken up writing. He had plot lines planned out for several books, and he intended to start his first one quite soon. It was just deciding whether he really needed any further education to improve his techniques. He probably did, but at the core of everything is a raw talent, Stiles didn't want to taint his passion with academia and the stress of a university course.

“What were the lore books on?” Stiles asked, frowning as he brought his mind back to the matter in question.

“It's strange-”

“Dad,” Stiles said, swallowing his food and looking at his father as though to tell him to just spit it out already.

“Werewolves,” John spoke. Stiles' face dropped and his heart pounded in his head “the lore books were on werewolves”

There was a moment in which Stiles allowed his brain to panic, his palms growing sweatier by the second. So much for a few weeks off. This goddamn town would not give them a fucking break.

“Stiles?” John's voice pierced the cloudiness of trepidation, making Stiles jump slightly and blink furiously.

“I need to make a phone call”

“Stiles-”

“I'm sorry dad, I just remembered there's something I forgot to mention to Scott earlier. I just... I'll be back in a couple of minutes and we can finish eating. Just a few seconds,” he blundered, pretty much falling off his stool as he made to stand up, rushing through the living room and out the front door, the cold night air hitting his buzzing skin, his stomach tingling as he fumbled to dial Derek's number.

“Stiles?”

“We have a problem”

He could practically see the look of done-ness fall over his half-boyfriend's face from the other side of the line, and he could hear the breath hitch in his throat.

“Finish eating with your father, then come over. I'll call everyone in”

“But-”

“Stiles, just eat with your dad please,” Derek's voice was urgent, but pleading, and Stiles knew that the pack had sensed how much he missed talking to his father properly lately. He drew in a breath to steady his adrenaline, the cool air trickling down to the pit of his lungs, making things a little clearer. He nodded once.

“Okay, I'll be an hour”

“Keep calm”

Derek hung up and Stiles let his eyes flutter closed for a moment, leaning the bottom of his spine against the garden fence, calming himself. There was no way he could go back into the house and converse with his dad whilst he was in alpha strategic mode, so he made sure that he was settled enough to focus on words that weren't about threats and possible action plans before he entered the house once more, downtrodden and dreading what they were going to find out in the following twenty four hours.

Stupid fucking werewolves.

* * *

He was jumpy and lose-tongued by the time he pulled up fast in front of the Hale House. He was out of the car and in the front room faster than the human eye could follow properly and Derek turned to look at him, mid conversation with Scott 

“You okay man, you look kinda-”

“Yes, I'm fine. That library burglary I mentioned a couple of days back? The librarian has gone missing along with a bunch of werewolf lore books, my dad thinks the girl's been kidnapped because she knows too much about something or other”

“How much adderall did you take?”

“The entire bottle. It doesn't matter man, we've got people on our back again and I want to shake them off, but we don't know anything about them and-”

Derek's hands were firmly on his shoulders suddenly, and he was being forced to look into ridiculously attractive hazel green eyes that really should be illegal if Stiles was being honest.

“I told you to calm down! Sit down or something, you're making everyone nervous,” Derek's voice was stern, but he could trace that edge of fear anywhere. They were probably over reacting, but so much had gone on in the last two years, Stiles had built up a phobia of being unprepared. Plus he had learned the hard way that underestimating the small things usually lead to a lot of blood and screaming and confused running – again with the running, Stiles was fed up of it all. He did, nevertheless, take a place on the sofa beside Lydia, sitting back and letting out an irritable sigh, worrying his bottom lip and tapping the arm of the chair repeatedly, struggling to keep a cap on his emotions. The full moon had only been yesterday, and no amount of exercise seemed to be getting rid of the excess energy.

“Who would want to steal werewolf lore? You can just sit down in the library and read it anyway,” Erica wondered aloud because no one had talked for a few seconds.

“Someone trying to hide what they wanted to read. Those books are over a hundred years old, they're in with the Grimoires, but they're locked up and you need special permission to get them out of the case,” Deaton was there, Stiles just noticed. The man was perched on the small surface for drinks between the sofa and the armchair, the same neutral expression on his face. Deaton was ever the presence of calm amongst panic. If he was worried about something, then everyone should really be freaking out. He didn't look too worked up though, merely curious, and Stiles squinted one eye, innocently raising his hand slightly.

“Right, about the Grimoires...”

“Stiles?”

“I might have taken them out for a bit of light reading. Oh don't look at me like that dude, those things are awesome and I have to get my juju training from somewhere, right? The vet can't teach me everything, no offence Deats,” Stiles glanced at Deaton who simply rolled his eyes and straightened his back a little.

“Did you definitely lock up the case when you took them out though? Because I'm going to hit you if you left the damn thing open,” Derek said, shifting his position the way he always did when he was bracing himself to yell or scold someone for being stupid.

“Of course I did man, those books are old, I do have a little bit of respect for my elders you know,” he replied, although he didn't sound too sure of himself. It was one of those situations where even though he really did know he had done something, he doubted whether he hadn't because he was thinking so hard about it.

“So how the hell did they get in”

“They, or what?”

“Oh c'mon don't ask that question Lydia, that is the most clichéd question in the history of questioning-”

“Stiles,” Derek snapped, shooting him a glare. Stiles huffed, crossing his arms over his chest and looking away “we do need to consider the possibility that what took the lore books, and maybe the librarian as well, is supernatural”

Stiles let out a laboured breath, bowing his head slightly, squinting his right eye and pinching the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb “why the fuck does it always have to be supernatural?” he said, looking up once more and swallowing solemnly, with a single nod, letting Derek know that it was okay for him to just talk on.

“Right. Now, our first line of action, as always, is evidence-”

“I'm not bringing Danny into this again,” Stiles interrupted before he could help himself, shaking his head defiantly, three steps ahead of his fellow alpha's thought processes “ _I_ can hack into the CCTV, if I have to. I might be able to get the tapes off my dad, but I doubt it, he doesn't trust me very much at the moment”

“Okay. Scott, Isaac, you're with me, you need to figure out a way for us to get into the library tomorrow night so we can scope it over, check for anything the cops haven't picked up. Erica, you're on mooching duty, get over to the station tomorrow morning, see if you can charm your way through some of the guys in there, get as much info as you can. Boyd, Allison you're with Lydia and Jackson, you are going to stay with Deaton and research, I want something on every supernatural creature that's had something against werewolves, as far back as you can go, narrow it down as much as possible”

* * *

Derek was having an off day. Well, Laura used to call it a 'danger day' because she made sure to keep her eye on him like a hawk. 

It was destructive, numb, crippling. He hadn't talked to anyone all day, not when he'd woken up to an empty house and realised that he had given everyone a part to play, apart from himself. Derek made a show of preferring to shy away from social situations, but in all honesty, he didn't do well at all by himself. It was why he had been so... broken, back when he had first encountered the beginnings of his current pack. Too much time, too many empty hours and whispers and ghosts all around him and inside his head. Remnants of smiles and jokes and banter.

'Losing a member of pack isn't like losing family, it's like losing a limb'

His mother had once told him that, tucking him into bed one night, taking an old leather bound book from his bedside table and flicking through the aboriginal style pictures and drawings of folklore and werewolf history. He had never really thought he would have to wrap his head around something like that, never believed that one day, out of a family pack of fifteen people, he would be amongst the only two left alive.

In his head, he couldn't help recalling everything he had lost.

In his head, on days like this, he could still feel the heat of the flames, hear the screaming, feel the way the flesh had burned off the bones of his family, his sisters and brothers, his mother and father, his aunt and – oh god her baby, her fucking three month old baby.

It was – it was all his fault, it wouldn't have happened if he hadn't been so god damned desperate and weak, so in need of a connection with someone who truly understood him. It was fake, it was all fucking fake and Kate had been fake and that – holy shit did that sit in his soul, it would have his soul in a death grip for the rest of his life. He remembered being stood there, helpless, simply staring blankly, tears falling from his eyes as John Stilinski told him in a low, broken voice that his entire family were piles of ash and charred corpses.

“My dad smacked me around the back of the head when I asked him to show me the CCTV, so I'm gonna need at least four cans of Monster and three giant packs of doritos. Also, consistent cups of coffee throughout the day whilst I do some hacking. Chop, chop sweetheart, get going, I need my fuel,” Stiles' voice cut through his eardrums as a laptop slammed down on the desk behind the sofa he was sat on, and a chair pulled back as he began to set up. Derek swallowed, letting out a deep breath as he tried to gather himself. He just became aware enough to catch the money Stiles chucked at him for the food and drink he wanted, and he looked down at it as though he had never seen it before.

When he looked up, Stiles' eyebrows were raising in concern and his lips parted ever so slightly.

“Dude, are you okay? You don't look so good, and you smell like-”

“I'm fine. I'll – I'll be back in 20,” Derek managed, voice quiet and closed off. Maybe going to the shop would bring him more into reality, maybe he might feel a bit better with some fresh air.

“Woah, wait a second,” Stiles said, standing up from his chair and wetting his lips like he always did when he was worked up. The hair pulling would start soon, without at doubt. Derek always supposed that was why Stiles had a buzz cut for so long. His anxiety normally caused him to tug at it, actually quite forcefully when he was especially stressed.

“You're not okay, you reek of despair and sadness. What's going on?”

“I always smell of those things,” Derek sighed, moving to leave again.

“Not as much lately though, so what's different about today?” Stiles asked, preventing him from avoiding the conversation even further.

“Nothing!” Derek snapped, unable to stop himself; he was so wound up, so sort of... detached. He just wanted to wallow in his own self-hate and pity. He had more important things to worry about anyway.

“So if there's nothing wrong why are you being such a bastard?” Stiles replied in a colder voice, eyes narrowing, arms folding over his chest. Derek didn't like that look, it meant Stiles was losing his patience, and it really took a lot for that to happen.

“I'm going to get you your damn energy drink and-”

“No, you're going to tell me what the hell is going on with you because it kind of looks like three years of improvement is going out the window”

“I just-” Derek broke off, shoulders dropping, chest deflating as he struggled, as usual, to really put what was going on in his head, into words “I have these – these days where sometimes it's a little louder than normal,” his voice was down in decibels now and his head was bowed, a way of protecting himself. Less eye contact meant less transparency.

“Louder?” Stiles asked, tone cracked and a little defeated, confused and worried.

“Just – louder is really – it’s the only way I can think of to describe it. Sometimes, it’s just a little more difficult to forget, and I'm so used to shutting off and dealing with it by myself. But – I'm- I'm actually going to go to the shop now, so get – get back to your hacking and I'll be back soon”

Stiles could probably have gone after him if he thought it would do any good, but Derek was being more uncommunicative than usual, which meant he just needed time. A couple of hours at the most though, because Stiles was just a really fucking impatient person, and Derek had _tried_ to talk, he had attempted to tell him what was wrong, which was a huge improvement still. For the moment, Stiles had a job, and that was good because he needed something to take his mind off the fact that he was a _fucking alpha werewolf mage._

* * *

“Okay, so I've hacked the CCTV and there are tapes from the last couple of weeks. I’m going to look through all of them to make sure we haven’t missed anything, it’s gonna take me about six hours,” Stiles said after huffing, swearing, muttering and almost crying at the screen of his laptop for about five and a half hours, having gone through seven cups of coffee, the pizzas Derek had ordered for lunch, and the Monster and Doritos he had gone out to buy earlier. His eyes were weirdly wide, he had nibbled his lip until it was bleeding in several places – the blood remaining there despite the cuts having healed over almost immediately – and his hair was messy from having been ruffled and pulled at every time he thought he was getting close to something, but got cut out by firewall. The living room table was a complete array of cables Derek didn’t understand, and didn’t really want to ask about, all connected to random hard drives and strange technical thin things he still didn’t feel the need to make an enquiry about. 

“Why did it take so long?” Derek asked with a frown. He wasn’t stupid at any rate; he didn’t have the knowhow, but he did know that it should normally only take about three minutes to hack into CCTV, providing you had an IP address. That also depended on whether that then lead onto a pathway that allowed access to past archives. Stiles was wickedly intelligent when he could concentrate properly and for long enough, but he was no Danny when it came to hacking.

“Few obstacles; its freakishly protected considering it’s only a damn library and I’m only trying to get the CCTV, not the actual database holding every single smidgen of information in that place. But whatever, I didn’t want Danny involved. I’ll make do. I’ve managed it anyway, it’s just sieving through it that’s going to be the challenge now. What exactly have you been doing all day anyway?” Stiles replied, furrowing his brow and finally taking his eyes away from the computer screen, running his hand through his hair again and slumping back in his chair, rubbing his forehead.

Derek scowled at him, narrowing his eyes “I’ve been navigating everyone else; they’re good,” he said distastefully, still offended that Stiles had accused him of doing nothing all day “but if they don’t have absolutely clear instructions, they run around like headless chickens,” he huffed, growling when his phone started buzzing in his hand again. He had been working on going through the library blueprints that Isaac had dropped off earlier, a present from Lydia apparently; and he was trying to work out an efficient way to scope the library as a pack – he had decided that all of them should go in instead (Lydia had actually called him and yelled at him to include the humans in the practical stuff) – so he was actually being very productive, thank you very much. He pressed the green button and after Stiles shot him a look of scolding at the irritated expression on his face, Derek drew in a breath.

“What?” he asked down the line in the calmest possible way, smiling sarcastically at his sort-of-boyfriend whilst he was at it.

“We’ve ruled out ghouls; they’ve been extinct in America for over three years now and we checked with the international board of supernatural regulations, there haven’t been any detected travelling through the area in the last three weeks, they would know about it,” Allison’s stoic voice said down the phone and Derek’s annoyance flared up again; the damn girl hated him, she was a down right bitch to him and he didn’t appreciate being talked to like a fucking child half the time; she made him look inadequate at every chance she got and it made him want to rip her throat out. But she was pack, whether he liked it or not – which really said something about their dynamic considering he was supposed to be head alpha – and he was forced to listen to her by the demanding look Stiles sent his way again.

“I didn’t think it was a ghoul anyway, those bastards are sloppy with their crime scenes, half of the ones still left alive in Britain are in prison,” Derek replied in a forced civil tone “keep looking, there has to be something,” he added, rolling his eyes when Stiles narrowed his eyes, daring him to put the phone down before he had said something a little less neutral and regal to her. He resisted another urge to growl and sighed “you’re doing good, keep it up,” he said once, and blankly, slamming his thumb down on the red button and throwing it sideways on the sofa to the left of him.

“She’s not that bad-”

“She’d try to kill me if it didn’t mean she had to lose Scott,” Derek snapped. Stiles tensed his jaw, trying to ignore the spike of anger he felt; he hadn’t gone for a run today, he was high on caffeine and sugar, and Derek was being grouchier than usual, which was saying something because Derek was totally the grouchiest person Stiles knew.

“But she could kill you, if she really wanted to, if she tried hard enough. But she doesn’t, so maybe cut her a bit of slack, okay?” Stiles said, keeping his voice as level as he could as he slurped on his iced cappuccino to distract himself.

“I’ll give her a break, when she gives me one. Weren’t you supposed to be getting on with something-”

“Just because you’re a fellow alpha and pack member, doesn’t mean I won’t punch you in the face,” Stiles said in a low voice as he went back to typing, his long calloused fingers flickering over the keys like it was a second nature. Derek swallowed a snappy retort, knowing that whatever came out, would be regretted later, and would do nothing for them in the early stages of their already fragile relationship. What, okay? He was learning. 


	6. Gone

“Oh my god, seriously? Do all creepy weird sociopaths wear leather these days?” Stiles gasped, clutching at the fabric of his t-shirt over his heart as he turned the corner.

“Wouldn’t that then make you a creepy weird sociopath?”

Stiles swallowed heavily, taking a slow, steady step backwards. The man stood in front of him was about an inch or two taller, his figure lean, cheekbones sharp, skin mildly tanned and flawless, eyes tinted grey. If Stiles wasn’t scared shitless at the sudden growling of his wolf in his gut, he’d probably have spent more time hitting on him.

“Who the hell are you?” Stiles demanded. He still wasn’t very good at controlling his shift; if he had a dollar for every time he’d nearly fucked everything up with his red flashy eyes in public, he’d be rich. There was the smell of blood filling his senses as well, making his jaw itch with the urge to retract his fangs, his fingers tingling. His sharp eyes honed in on the crimson smudges across his opposition’s fingers and the small almost drip at the corner of the guy’s mouth.

“Take a guess”

“I don’t like guessing games,” Stiles replied, focusing on keeping his breathing under control, remembering the techniques Derek had been trying to teach him to keep himself grounded and in his own head “too much effort for a lowly teenager”

“Except you’re a werewolf,” the guy smiled, tilting his head to the left slightly before his eyes changed, the blood vessels becoming more prominent, the skin around them wrinkling a little. The guy allowed his lips open a crack to reveal razor sharp fangs on the top half of his jaw, different to Stiles’ and for some reason, a lot more menacing. Then it registered that Stiles was stood in front of Stefan Salvatore.

Stiles had only been on the phone with Bonnie that morning about how Stefan was on a blood binge again, and Damon was on the hunt to find him; which meant that cuddly, compassionate, Romeo Stefan was AWOL, and this bastard staring at his ventricle was the famous ripper. He didn’t know much about vampire/werewolf relations through history but what he did know was sort of setting him on edge and accounted for why he was having such a hard time refraining from tearing the dude’s throat out.

“Give me a little more credit,” Stiles said, making the decision to bring out the big guns in case he needed them. He closed his eyes for a mere slither of a second, dropping an inch of his repression and almost pruning as his claws grew out and his jaw clicked and contracted, fangs coming out to play “I’m a Mage as well,” he smiled almost politely, blinking once as his pupils shuttered ruby red. Stefan hissed at him, bottom half of his jaw pushing forward a little. The moment Stefan took a step forward however, he paused, eyes going wide, hands clutching at his head, gnarling and thrashing to the floor, on his knees. Stiles walked forward then, canines still razor sharp and strong.

That was where they differed. Stefan was a cat, in a way, stalking his pray, designed to revel in the chase, pripping and grooming himself, hissing and scratching, going straight in for the kill, limbs agile and soft and strong. The wolf was set apart by its more earthly hunting connections, in touch with the ground, the elements; always similar to the feline species, but at the same time complete opposites circling each other, fangs bared, one side created to cut and sting, the other, being Stiles, created to tear.

“See I’m wondering why a mindless killer like the famous ripper,” Stiles said, acting a lot more confident than he was really feeling, having to keep at least one side of his brain focused on holding the spell up; the spell forming the aneurysm in Stefan’s head, growing larger or smaller depending on what Stiles wanted to happen, and he did not want to kill tonight “would want to be all mysterious and strategic by stealing a bunch of witchy juju books on werewolves,” he continued, crouching when he was in front of Stefan, hearing Isaac and Derek appearing behind him at the end of the isle where he had come from. They didn’t approach, however much their instincts were probably growling at them to do so; Stiles was powerful, but he needed concentration and self-presence and that wasn’t something he could focus on if members of his pack, being one of his best friend’s and his boyfriend at the same time, were flanking him too closely and putting themselves at risk.

“Was it a challenge? Because dude, there was no need to be cryptic, I’m a smart guy and I’ve got a shit load of resources, if you needed something, you could have just come and asked for it,” Stiles sighed, putting out a finger, claw softly pressing against his skin to bring Stefan’s chin up so that he was looking into his eyes. It hurt, watching the pain there in the gaze, knowing that he was causing it. He’d said it before, he was a lover not a fighter; but sometimes situations called for it, and vampires were dangerous, especially when humans were their instinctive prey, and Stefan Salvatore, the almighty ripper, was one of the most dangerous of them all. Or so it was told.

“Y-you wouldn’t have given a-anything to me,” Stefan struggled, sweat dripping down his face, tears of agony forming in his eyes as Stiles stubbornly kept the spell up. He wasn’t stupid, like he’d already said, and he doubted that Stefan was cocky enough to come without back up.

“Where’s your hybrid buddy?” Stiles deflected Stefan’s reply. This was the real reason he was holding back, the real reason he was nervous; that damn original hybrid they were all fussing about. Bonnie had warned him in their conversations that Stefan was more than likely in cahoots with the dude, especially if he was indulging in another blood party.

“How are you both alphas?” Stefan coughed, eyes squinting in pain again.

“Where is Klaus, I know he’s here,” Stiles said in a firmer voice, wanting nothing more than to drop the spell and stop Stefan’s pain. Violent mass murderer or not, Stiles knew this was not who Stefan really was, he could see it in his expression, the cracks in his reflection; this man was not evil, he was just lost. And addicted.

“Relax love,” that voice made Stiles freeze up, just managing to keep his power line buzzing. Slowly, he brought his eyes up from Stefan’s, and met the face of a slightly older looking, extremely attractive man speaking with a crisp, soft British accent, the hints of a slight lisp on the edge of his syllables “how’s about you let my friend go and we can settle this Original Hybrid to Werewolf Mage, hmm?”

Stiles stood back up to full height, gnashing momentarily at Derek who was practically wolfing out to his left behind him, and drew in a deep breath, straightening his back, flexing his fingers and bringing his claws out properly, drawing on that rational place inside him, the place that would calm the wolf. He kept it close by though, blinking once so that his red eyes softened back to his normal amber brown.

“Dude, your pet was about to try and kill me,” Stiles exclaimed. Although not really wanting to hurt Stefan much, he was still pissed off; he didn’t like anyone trying to kill him, it wasn’t very good manners.

“I am aware,” Klaus sighed, moving forward and placing a hand on Stefan’s shoulder “now drop the  spell or I’ll rip your bloody heart out”

Derek growled more audibly from close by and Stiles considered disobeying Klaus’ commands for a moment, his eyes flickering between Stefan who was spluttering in a whimpering mess on the ground, and Klaus who looked braced, slightly angry, but mildly amused and a touch impressed. He was looking back at Stiles with an air of extreme curiosity, his eyes narrowed as they searched his face, registering his features, his teeth, his claws, his scent, his power. Stiles took a moment to let a drop of satisfaction and smugness wash over him; Klaus Mikealson was threatened by him.

Then he swallowed, closing his eyes and drawing in a deep breath, feeling the familiar twinge of pain in his chest when he allowed a slightly darker, more powerful spell to drop from his power line. He rolled his shoulders this time, clicking his neck, feeling the bones adjusting to the newly strengthened muscle, despite it not actually changing size or weight. He stood up to full height, straightening his spine and taking a step backward so he was closer to his pack mates, the sheer protective rage coming off of them making him slightly dizzy for a second.

“Dude, why are you here and why are you messing around kidnapping librarians and stealing Grimoires?”

“Well now little wolf,” Klaus half-smirked, taking a casual step forward “I don’t think that’s any of your business”

“I don’t give a shit what you think man,” Stiles replied, thoroughly pissed off now, and getting impatient. He wanted the Grimoires back along with the librarian girl and answers as to why Klaus was poking around in town looking up werewolf lore and using Stefan as his pawn again “I’m making it my business. So c’mon,” Stiles snapped “why the hell are you fucking around in Beacon Hills, and where is the librarian?”

Klaus raised his eyebrows at him for a few seconds, red lips curved into a soft line. Stiles could have sworn he saw his eyes flash yellow, but it could have been a trick of the light because a literal second later Klaus had zoomed past him, grabbed Isaac by the curls, yanked Stefan back up to full height, and had his hand in Isaac’s chest cavity with his hand around his heart ready to rip it out. Stiles let out a roar of pure fury, lowering into a defensive position, guttural, gravelly pants of air rasping through his altered lungs and stamina, Derek in a near identical poise beside him, jaw twitching, fangs elongated, faces twitching between wolf and human.

“Let him go,” Stiles half-yelled, surprised he wasn’t having a heart attack with the amount of anger pulsing and throbbing through his body, thumping in his head, sharpening his senses a hundred times more acutely.

“You think you can demand things from me?” Klaus growled back at him, façade cracking a little as how own anger began to show “you don’t get to interrogate me Stiles,” Klaus spat his name like it was poison and had opened his mouth to say something before Stiles’ eyes narrowed hard, his bones cracked audibly and he howled in enmity as a wave of heat and power burst from him, knocking everyone back a couple of paces. Klaus and Stefan were coughing and growling in agony then, Stiles’ breathing deep and laboured, Derek scrambling back to his feet as Stiles’ two targets keened and yelled out in pain. Stiles lifted an arm sharply in front of him, two fingers out and pointed directly at Klaus. Nothing happened for a small moment before Klaus’ hand was slowly forced out from Isaac’s chest, stiffly trying to fight back against the sheer length of ballistic energy radiating from Stiles’ and failing miserably.

“I’m a reasonable dude,” Stiles spoke harshly, claws on his left, unused hand scraping softly against each other before he brought his other arm up, watching with satisfaction as Klaus and Stefan flew back against the wall, both struggling against invisible bonds being concentrated by Stiles’ hands “but you just laid your hands on my pack, my cutest little puppy actually,” he carried on, walking forwards, Derek moving to get an unconscious Isaac up to full height, slinking him over his shoulder, half watching all of Stiles’ actions in shock and… well yes, slight fear “so whether you’re the original vampire or werewolf or whatever, you just got in my bad books – it’s killing me not to make a Hulk reference right now – and that’s not a good place to be. I’m still a kid remember, not even in my twenties yet, and I’m really hormonal and I have an attention deficit disorder and I’m quite murderous at the moment, so I’m going to tell you this once,” Stiles was right up against Klaus’ face now, breath fanning over his furious features “if you ever hurt or threaten someone I care about ever again I’ll peel the skin from your bones strip by strip without even touching you and then I’ll make you eat it and-” he broke off, a small smile creeping up the corner of his mouth “I will even let your sister watch”

* * *

 

“Stiles,” Lydia’s voice barely registered with him the first time, it was only when she slapped him across the back of the head that he startled dramatically and almost fell off his chair, recovering and clutching at the back of his head as he glared at her. She raised her eyebrows at him and slapped him again.

“Don’t flash your eyes at me you little shit,” she snapped, holding his gaze. He eventually gave up and huffed, dropping his forehead to the desk in front of him and groaning loudly. The rest of the class were yacking loudly so no one was alarmed by his sudden expression of dismay. They were supposed to be discussing the context of humour in The Millers Tale or something, but all Stiles had managed to come up with, looking down at his notebook, was ‘girls want the D’. Chaucer was quite interesting normally, but he was moon drunk from the night before and he was still pissed at himself for angering one of the most powerful creatures on the planet with age old daddy issues.

“Sorry,” he sighed, resisting the urge to whine or whimper. He hated the day after the full moon, it always had him wanting to hide away in a hole and claw at himself until he had a hold of his instincts properly “I’m just a bit jumpy today,” he said, rubbing at his temples and squinting a little at the whiteboard.

“Well don’t take it out on me,” she replied reproachfully, taking his hand nonetheless and covering it with both of her own, rubbing at his knuckles. Pack contact always calmed him down a little and it wasn’t so weird for him anymore that all he wanted to do was bury his face in her strawberry blonde hair and ignore the world. But scenting in public normally looked a bit fishy and more like he was molesting her than using her presence to stop him from ripping someone’s head off with his claws.

“Have you heard anything from Klaus?” she asked, a small frown furrowing her brow “Bonnie said it’s normally a good sign if you haven’t, he might have skipped town,” she suggested. Stiles scoffed and shook his head mildly.

“I threatened him and Stefan and then told him I’d torture him and let his maniac sister in on some voyeurism. I don’t think he’s leaving it alone Lydia,” he said slightly bitterly “I think he’s biding his time to make us nervous. Dudes like Klaus get off on that”

She didn’t say anything for a little while and he took that as an indication that she was just as worked up about it as he was. It was scary, loving people who were human in a secret world of dangerous superhuman predators that you couldn’t tell them about. Lydia was human, she was breakable and would die much faster than they would. It was probably why Jackson was practically attached to her hip every second of the day in the last week; he was just as terrified of Klaus getting to the humans he cared about as Stiles was.

And Stiles had told Scott before, he couldn’t save everyone, no matter how much he wanted to.

Maybe he was being hyper vigilant again, but his wolf instincts were going crazy waiting for something to threaten the pack again, and he was jumping out of his freaking skin every time he saw or heard anything a little out of the ordinary. He just wished he could get a damn hold on this anger already because it was buzzing away at his gut after every full moon and he was fed up of it.

* * *

 

“Shit,” he cursed, jumping out of bed, stumbling as the sheets, tangled around his leg and midriff, followed him. “Shit shit shit shit shit,” he was in the house, completely alone, and he hadn’t felt any aversion to that until now. Fuck this wasn’t happening. It wasn’t real. It wasn’t true. His chest was already tightening and he heaved for Oxygen that didn’t seem present as he struggled to pull his jeans on, finally, eventually getting the zipper up. He grabbed a t-shirt from a random surface, not bothering to give a shit about whether it was his or Derek’s, his entire torso aching with the possibility of what he might have to deal with.

He had no idea what he was supposed to do, what he was supposed to be feeling, how this was panning out, but he was automatically dialling Derek’s number without even thinking about it, already half sobbing, his head throbbing from lack of the gasses needed for respiration.

“The s-s-station,” he coughed, urging, his gag reflex being triggered “d-dad,” he managed, still stumbling as he pushed out through the front door, almost tripping down the porch, his world spinning, spiralling out of control.

“Stiles, what-”

“V-vampire!” he choked, having to take a second out of his incessant journey to his jeep, arching forward, hands on his knees, supporting his upper body weight as his efforts to keep the contents of his stomach on the inside of his body failed. He tried to swallow but his throat was scratchy and closed over and he wanted to stand back up to full height but his reality was blurring around him and – jesus fucking christ, so much for being superhuman. There was no way he was surviving this, not if his dad wasn’t.

But moments later there were hands grabbing at his face, forcing him up, trying to get him to focus, to breathe. That familiar scent over-rided his nervous system and as a warm forehead pressed against his, he slowly managed to gain back some of his body’s basic functions.

“Keys,” the voice he knew so well said, speaking in one sentence words; normally it would bother him, but right now he needed short, snappy results and he needed to get to his father, to this car crash or whatever the fuck it was that the station were alerting him of, but refused to give specific details for.

He was helped into the front passenger seat of his jeep at top speed and he tried to slow his breathing further, eyes glistening, brain thrumming as his neurotransmitters worked at returning him to normal.

Breathe. In. Out.

Breathe. In. Out.

* * *

It wasn’t working. Nothing was fucking working. It had been three days and it still wasn’t working. He still couldn’t compute it, couldn’t register the reality of it, couldn’t move, think, sleep, eat. Breathe. How was he supposed to come back from that? How was he even supposed to carry on with his life, look at another person without bursting into tears, screaming at the top of his lungs, prevent himself from puking his guts up.

He had already done all of those things and this was the result; him sat in the corner of his room on his bed, curled up in a ball, shaking violently, throat dry and scratchy from all the retching and yelling, eyes sore from the sheer amount of tears that had fallen, skin tight and itchy, dry blood collecting on his hands where his nails had dug in.

He wanted to move at the very least, to make a vamp joke in a morbid tone that would have people looking at him like they didn’t know whether they were allowed to laugh or not. He wanted to get up and hit something, to throw a plate or-

Jesus Christ he couldn’t take this anymore. Suddenly his legs weren’t shaking and they were carrying him fast down the stairs into the kitchen, and he wasn’t crying, he was buzzing and his eyes were wide and he was furious. His claws were out, his fangs were elongating and his pupils dilated, flashing red as he grabbed the nearest thing and flung it at the wall, growling loudly as it smashed and shattered into hundreds of pieces. The sound pulled something out from inside of him and he grabbed something again, a mug, and repeated it, smashing his foot into cupboards as the wood splintered against his heightened strength, his skin breaking and then healing automatically, bones in his toes snapping and then fixing back into place.

He slashed his hand across the worktop and pruned at the sound of everything clattering across the floor, fracturing and flying through the air, cracking. Before he knew it, he was on the floor again, sobbing through his organs, gasping and begging for oxygen, crying at the top of his lungs, claws dragging across the tiles. Then it burst from him, his head snapping upwards at the moon, howling deafeningly. It was a terrible sound, one of anguish and agony and desolation and it filled his lungs up, ripping through him before he dropped hunched forward, heart beating a million times a minute, bones aching with the sheer force of his grief.

He stayed there then, not even crying, not even bothering to sit up straight or wipe his face and pull himself together. He felt deflated, lost, terrified. Both of them were gone now.

He was an orphan.

* * *

 

It had been four months when it first happened. They’d gotten over the worst of winter and now they could work with the light of the sun streaming through the kitchen and the smell of paint and aerosol wafting around with the occasional hint of scrambled eggs when Derek made Stiles stop to eat.

They’d been at it for hours and as the afternoon haziness and relaxation began to set in, the radio became part of the background, forgotten until suddenly, without realising it, Stiles started humming along to the music jump starting a slow, rattling beat accompanied by a half-decent voice. Derek didn’t recognise it to begin with, and Stiles didn’t even realise that Derek had stopped to watch, mid brush stroke, Stiles simply continued to paint the wall in time with the music.

“If I asked you for good news,” he sang along quietly “would you smile and turn away?”

Oh crud. The song was relevant and Stiles still hadn’t picked up on it, he was just… singing. Murmuring parts of it that he didn’t know the lyrics to, and dancing a little, bobbing his head and neck. Derek couldn’t bring himself to point it out, to switch the song over or interrupt. This was the most animated his boyfriend had been in months, the closest he had looked to… alive. And Derek knew these moments, he used to have them in the months following the death of his family; falters in time when his mind was so distracted and lost in content physicality, that he forgot, just for a small while, that he was an orphan, that he was a seventeen year old boy with nothing in the world but his distraught older sister.

After a couple more seconds of watching Stiles move around, eyes completely lost in the work he was doing with the paintbrush, he went back to his own job, covering the breast wall with the dark purple Stiles had picked out from their local DIY store.

After a series of weirdly transfixing songs with the type of beat that had you so strung along by your activity that by the time they were finished, you’d done half of what you were supposed to be doing and were finished by the end of the third one. It was a mixture of different singers ranging from acoustic versions of Brendon Urie’s Girls/Girls/Boys, Macklemore’s Same Love, Of Monsters and Men’s From Finner and Slow and Steady, and Pierce the Veil’s King for a Day and You Me at Six’s Bite My Tongue. Derek even had a moment of nostalgia when MCR’s Teenagers clicked on, although he didn’t mention that out loud either – Stiles would love nothing more than for Derek to give him fuel for a bunch of emo/punk kid jokes and he’d be damned if he let him have it.

He rolled his eyes when Stiles jumped up on the kitchen table top in his usual gravity defying fashion, dancing around and singing along to Counting Stars by One Republic, swinging around and using his paint brush as a microphone. Derek tried his best to keep a straight face, he really did, but Stiles tried to grab a hold of the kitchen light to swing on it, but missed his grip and ended up on the floor on his ass, pouting up at him with a furrowed brow. Derek couldn’t help the twitching of his mouth into a small smile of amusement as he huffed, uncrossed his arms from his chest, and yanked Stiles to his feet, pressing a small peck to his nose and going back to his work.

It was the best day they’d had in a very long time, and one of the last they’d have together in an even longer while. 

* * *

 

“Isaac, can I have a word with you?” Stiles spoke quietly after yet another pack meeting of sitting on the sidelines and watching his pack talking and planning and relaxing. He made the odd comment, but otherwise kept shtum. It wasn’t intended, it was just that most of the time he felt that if he opened his mouth, he would chuck up the contents of his stomach again. But he’d been putting off this conversation for over a month now and his solicitor was bugging him to get it sorted, and it would be the perfect opportunity to try and convince at least one person that he was doing okay.

“Sure man,” Isaac grinned as Stiles pulled him to the side and the rest of the pack filed out. Derek left them to it, and it hurt even more that the dude wasn’t even listening in on their conversation. How could Stiles really do this? How could he leave his family like this, leave Derek who was being ridiculously respectful of him of late.

“You’re living with Derek again now, right?” Stiles asked although he already knew that was the case. Isaac nodded with a small frown “well he’s… sorta told me on his grumpy Derek level that he enjoys having you around, but I know you feel like a bit of a nuisance sometimes and I think, as honorary pack second alpha mommy person thing, that you should have your own space-”

“Stiles, where is this going?” Isaac interrupted him. Stiles huffed, letting out a tired sigh and slumping his shoulders from where he was perched on the back of the sofa.

“I want to give you my house”

“What?!” Isaac’s eyes shot open wide and his mouth dropped open. Stiles put his hands up in defence, looking him straight in the eye.

“I don’t want to live there anymore, but I don’t want to sell it, and I know you need a place to live that isn’t around Derek 24/7. So,” Stiles spoke in a slower, calming tone “I want you to have it. All you have to do is sign a few bits of paper, my solicitor guy will wave his weird personalised pen, and you can move in next month,” he said, as if it was the simplest thing ever. Isaac stared at him in shock for a little while longer, his mouth bobbing open and closed before he finally shut it and started pacing back and forth on the other side of the coffee table, ruffling the back of his hair roughly and breathing heavily. Stiles didn’t interrupt, he didn’t like talking much lately anyway, so he just let Isaac mull it over in that pretty little head of his, and sat waiting for a response.

“If I take this, where are you going?” Isaac asked. Shit. Stiles was counting on him not going over that variable. Fuckity fuck fuck shit. He shifted and squirmed under Isaac’s demanding gaze, completely at loss for how to explain what he was doing.

“Stiles,” he snapped “where the hell are you running to?”

No no no. He wasn’t ready to deal with this, he couldn’t even look at Isaac for fuck sake.

“Stiles, you’re one of my best friends, I know you, where are you hiding to?”

He closed his eyes and swallowed tightly, trying to get his breathing under control.

“I’m- I’m going to university,” he said, not expecting for Isaac’s face to light up and to be tackled to the ground by a giant puppy hug.

“That’s amazing!” Isaac half-yelled “that’s – wow that’s so great for you!” he said, moving back so Stiles could scramble back to his feet and brush himself off.

“Wow, don’t get too sad,” he grumbled.

“Oh don’t be stupid,” Isaac sighed “of course it’ll be devastating when you go, but like I said, you’re one of my best friends and you need a bit of space and some happiness”

Stiles wanted to punch the air with glee. He was actually so relieved that the first person he had told was happy for him, and wanted him to go for what he wanted. He was fully aware that he’d be yelled at a lot when the rest of the pack found out, but that was okay, because one person thought he was doing the right thing and didn’t think he was crazy, and that was saner than he had felt in weeks since making the decision to leave.


	7. Old laundry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a longer chapter, so you might wanna get a couple of snacks and some tissues, if required. 
> 
> As always, read, enjoy, comment and let me know what you think.
> 
> Deexx

“Stay”

Stiles froze completely, feet catching in place without moving, breath not flowing through his windpipes. He couldn't have heard it, he didn't want to have heard it. Because there was no way Derek had asked that. There was no way he would make himself that emotionally bare, exposed. Derek didn't selfishly ask anyone for anything anymore. 

But the sound had really been there, the word had really been released into the air and Stiles had really heard it and Derek had really said it.

How the hell was he supposed to leave now? How was he supposed to walk away from that? It had been so long, so difficult, so much had happened, they had experienced so much as a pack, and Stiles had lost his purity as a human, as a person. Not that he was ever that pure in the first place. Oh it was all so confusing, so stressful, so messy. It was so full of jigsaws and mazes and fear and adrenaline and it was clear, and blurry all at the same time. For three years it had been nothing but paradoxes and oxymorons, and Stiles couldn't think straight, he couldn't breathe.

And he _needed_ to do this. He _needed_ clarity. He _needed_ a normal life, away from the supernatural taboo that was his home town. He _couldn't_ stay. He couldn't do this for Derek.

As he drew in a harsh, deep intake of breath that hurt and corrupted his aching lungs and took a step forward, his back to his alpha, it broke him. It killed him inside. Around him, his world crumbled like a slow motion action shot in a film by Chris Nolan or JJ Abrams, aspects of his reality flying about as rubble around him, cutting into things, smashing things.

But he kept walking, and he kept on moving and not once did he look back, because he knew that if he did, he would never have been able to get out.

* * *

Stiles didn't really know what he was doing, or really why he was doing it.

Okay, he totally knew _why_ , he just didn't get how he was managing to put himself through so much fucking _pain_ without completely losing his mind. He was sort of just walking. Yeah, that's what he was doing. He was walking and he had a take-out coffee in his hand that he didn't recall buying, and a bag on his shoulder full of newly brought books and he was shrugging his hoodie around him tighter and he was focusing on breathing and walking and – oh okay he had somehow ended up at his lecture hall. He didn't remember looking at the map to see where it was that morning, but apparently his mind had photographed it and had been leading him to where he needed to be without him realising. 

Stiles wasn't used to thinking with his head. Normally he made decisions based on his heart and how he was feeling and how he felt about the people involved.

But it seemed to be working okay for him so far because he took a deep breath and followed the students filing into the lecture theatre, swallowing the lump in his throat threatening to make him turn around and run in the opposite direction. _No_ , he thought furiously, dragging himself forward to a seat on the far right of the room in one of the more secluded blocks where not many people were sat. Behind him he was pretty sure there was a dude sniffing a line of crack, but about five seats to his left there was a guy with dark shaggy hair and soft looking skin that was wearing a tee with Daleks on it. Stiles relaxed a little. These were his kind of people.

“Okay, a new load of lost little borderlines. Let’s see what we got in the collection this year, and we can make a start on how many of you actually give a shit about literature...” his professor's voice trailed off in his head, his vocal cords reacting only once in reply when his name was called. Stiles sat back, spine hunched slightly, hands playing with the holes of wear in the long sleeves of his hoodie, thoughts wondering off again.

Stiles lost himself in the smells and sounds for a few moments, allowing things to slip through time around him. Tea, coffee; specifically Starbucks with a hint of Costa. American Apparel clothing, nicotine, morning breath, sex, stale alcohol from the night previous, paper, new books, perfume, aftershave, cheap shower gel. He let himself drift further, and began to touch on the emotions, the feelings, the essences of thoughts; fatigue, hunger, giddiness, concentration, a few whispers of heartbreak in some auras, slight fear, homesickness, passion for the subject. The sounds of pens and pencils scratching the date into their notebooks, the tip tap of nails on desks, someone faintly humming to Bastille, texting, gum being chewed, sighs of sleepiness. All so _normal_. So real.

The cute dude on his left asked him for a pen even though he looked like the kind of person that would stab themselves in the face if they forgot more than one item in their pencil case. Stiles obliged however, smiling slightly at the grin the kid gave him and making a small effort to turn what little attention span he had, to the man that would be teaching them for the next three years.

Stiles took notes on their book log for the first term, doodled idly on the corner of the page, zoning out every now and again when he thought he could get away with it, and perked up only when he was told they would be studying myth, lore and legend when they came back after vacation.

Not that Stiles would be going anywhere for vacation of course, he planned to stay in his dorm room watching lots of Netflix and masturbating. He really didn't have anyone he particularly wanted to visit without having a compulsive urge to rip his heart out of his chest so he didn't have to deal with crippling anxiety and pain. He wanted to put as much time between him and Beacon Hills as he possibly could, although he highly doubted that he would be able to get out of being Scott's best man in a couple of years. Other than that, he never really wanted to go back there again. If he did, he knew he wouldn't be able to leave, and that's not what he wanted. Not what he needed.

And this was about _him_.

He was putting himself first for once.

* * *

“Stiles, how long have you been not listening to me?” a voice cut through the cloud of blurriness he had created around himself, and he jumped up in his chair, wiping the drool from his chin, swallowing to wet his dry throat.

“Uhh...” he started guiltily. Cassie huffed, rolling her eyes and sitting back from her laptop, swivelling in her chair so she was faced more at his angle.

“Look, I get that you've got this big secret that makes you miserable all the time and everything, but Stiles, you could at least make an effort to _look_ like you're paying attention to me,” she sighed, crossing her arms over her chest.

Three years before starting her first year at university, Cassie had undergone extensive chemotherapy for a rather aggressive bout of breast cancer. She had only just had another year clear, he had even gone to the appointment with her. They were really different people, they saw the world in different ways, and Stiles never spoke about his life, whereas Cassie never _stopped_ talking about her life. She was calm though, collected, quietly passionate and reserved. She knew how to talk to people, how to comfort them, how to develop understandings with them. She was extremely empathetic. And she gave Stiles hope.

He loved her.

She was a good friend.

“I'm sorry! I am! I'm just not sleeping again, I think I'll have to get another prescription of Valarium. I can't concentrate on anything. What where you talking about?” he apologised, settling comfortably in his chair once more, and watching her more intently. The Valarium would do nothing for him of course, unless he took it in dangerously large quantities; werewolves couldn't take anything that wasn't really strong and herbal.

Cassie had crazy, curly blonde hair that had grown back remarkably well and she was surprisingly curvy for someone who had been repeatedly blasted with radiation for a good part of her adolescence. She was short, at only 5ft 6, but she was nice. And smart people knew that pissing off nice people to the point where they lose their temper properly, turns them into vicious little assholes. She had large, chocolate brown eyes, creamy skin with a light dusting of freckles over her nose and cheekbones. Her smile was wide and bright and she had a habit of biting her nails until they bled.

“I was saying that I have a meeting with Sarah on Saturday morning to talk covers. I want your professional opinion,” she replied simply, not pushing him on his insomnia issue; they had already argued about it, and he had shut down and she had refused to talk to him for a whole two weeks. After that, they had agreed not to have any more conversations about it, if he promised to see a GP and at least try to get some help for it.

“Uggh I hate Sarah”

“She can't help it if she looks like a pigeon”

“I don't like pigeons, I don't trust them not to shit on me”

“You don't trust anyone not to shit on you Stiles, you have paranoia issues as big as my hair”

That shut him up. He simply nodded at her request for his presence at her meeting on Saturday, and sulked for the rest of the afternoon whilst he tried to work through his writers block. He drank three cups of coffee, consumed an entire jumbo pack of spicy doritos, and got worked up about the essay he had due in the next morning. He finished it at four in the morning, and after emailing it to his teacher, dragged himself back to his dorm from the library, collapsing on his bed and falling into a sleep the moment his head hit his pillow.

He dreamt of home.

He woke in a cold sweat when his alarm went off, and he had to run to the bathroom to be sick. He didn't move from the floor of his en-suit for the rest of the day. He didn't tell anyone about it. 

* * *

“Mr Stilinski”

“Sarah,” he nodded, a deliberately fake smile plastered across his face as he adjusted his blazer and shook her hand across the table before sitting down next to Cassie. He hated this office. It was too clean, too spotless. It smelt bare, empty, wrong. So did Sarah. Not to mention the bitch was a total predatory cougar, which was so not cool. 

“I trust you have ideas Cassie,” she grinned, flashing her bright white teeth. Stiles withheld the urge to stamp on her foot underneath the desk.

“Of course I do, I have too many. I have four serious ones though, and Stiles has two that he thinks could be our final covers,” Cassie replied. Sarah's eyes twitched for a moment and he knew she was looking down her nose at him. Either that or she was staring at his crotch; both were very realistic possibilities.

“Well, lets see these... brilliant ideas of Mr Stilinski's then, shall we?”

Stiles spent the next thirty minutes refraining from ripping the bitch's throat out with his claws. Being in this mood wasn't good, but being in a room with Sarah sort of forced him into having to use his anchor to hold back shifting; Cassie didn't know anything, and he intended to keep it that way. When the two women were halfway through drawing up a conclusion, Stiles' phone rang and he had to leave the room to answer it. He was pretty damn glad of the excuse to not have to look at Sarah for another second if he was being honest.

“Hello?”

“Hey batman”

His shoulders tensed for a moment before they slumped and he put his hands in the pockets of his trousers, leaning against the wall.

“Catwoman,” he replied, a smile stretching along his lips as he held the device to his ear. Erica's voice seemed to lift the weight from his shoulders for a moment, and he let out a breath of relief.

“How is uni life treating you?” she asked. He wasn't sure how to answer. How was he supposed to tell her that he was aching for the place that did nothing but bring him pain? How was he supposed to word how fucking guilty he felt for leaving the pack, for pursuing a life so different in comparison to the place he had grown up in? How was he supposed to tell her that he missed Derek every second of the day, and that dreams of home made him curl up on his bathroom floor sobbing for days at a time?

“Awesome!” he lied easily, focusing hard on keeping his heartbeat steady, and his breath relaxed “I'm nearly done with the book; I have a meeting with my agreed literary agent on Monday afternoon, I just have to push through the access to dip into my inheritance and it should be out in the next eight months,” he said, putting on his expertly enthusiastic voice. He didn't want Erica worrying about him, she would genuinely drive down to the university if she thought something was up, and that was the last thing he wanted; talking on the phone was one thing, but face to face contact would hurt too much.

“Wow! You're actually going to be a published author that is so weird. You better invite me to red carpets, I would rock the fuck out of one of those dresses. I can be your beard!” she exclaimed excitedly, and for a moment, Stiles forgot everything that had happened; he could just have been talking to his friend on the phone on a normal Saturday morning. But it caught up with him, and he only just managed to cover up his nostalgia.

“Erica, you know I'm out, right? I don't need a beard”

“I don't care, I want to be your red carpet partner when you're dating Chris Colfer and tripping over camera cables live on TV”

Stiles let himself get carried away thinking about dating Chris Colfer, he didn't realise that Erica had started rambling animatedly about Isaac leaving the toilet seat up (which Stiles didn't even understand because Isaac owned Stiles' old house, and Erica didn't even live there), and Scott proposing to Allison and Boyd being really good in bed. He noticed that she cleverly avoided mentioning Derek, and Stiles mentally thanked her. He was a good liar, but he didn't think he would be able to brush it off if he had a panic attack over the phone because his friend had simply said the name of his fellow pack alpha and ex-boyfriend that he may or may not be helplessly in love with.

“Email me after your meeting on Monday Stiles, let me know how it goes. Scott wants you to text him as well, he says he's going to kick your ass if you don't,” she spoke, and he can hear the conversation coming to an end.

“Yeah sure, whatever”

“Love you batman,” Erica's voice changed a little, there was a small crack in it that weakened a wound he had been licking for the past year he had spent on campus. Fuck he missed them.

“Love you too Catwoman. Now piss off or you'll make me cry in the middle of a waiting room”

* * *

The meeting with his literary agent, Josh Shouter, went well, and he was signed up to a major publishing company. For the first time in a year, he could see something good ahead, something that would help him redeem himself in his own mind. He could be doing something with his life, something productive. 

If he really thought about it, in theory, he was doing very well for himself. He had only been in full time studious university for ten months, he was only nineteen, and he was about to publish his book throughout the entirety of America. He made a note to buy his literary agent something nice when he was making some more money. Not that Josh Shouter needed anything of course, the dude was pretty much set up for life. Josh's father owned a huge company, and after Josh had turned eighteen, he had taken over a literary branch of the business; they were investing a lot of money in Stiles' book, so he bloody well hoped that it would sell. Josh was tall, strong, charming and sweaty. He had pretty blue eyes, curly mousy brown hair, and lots of faint acne scars. He was kind, sarcastic, clever in the practical sense, and Stiles got along with him very well. He was pretty fucking lucky to have made a friend of his literary agent actually, he could have had it much worse.

His professor was proud of him too, and was putting the work in after classes and during the weekends to help Stiles out with his writing skills, doing different exercises to test and develop his grammar and vocabulary. Along with that, actual class work involving very long essays and thesis', Cassie time, internet, and sleep; Stiles was exhausted. It was a good thing though, he had decided, it kept him busy. He had so many things to think about and get done, that he rarely had any time to dwell on what he was desperately repressing at the back of his mind.

He was doing really well until Cassie asked about Isaac's post on his Facebook wall on his birthday.

He had woken to his phone vibrating madly with email notifications and texts, and he had actually thrown it across the room and buried his head in his pillow. He had forgotten about his werewolf strength however, and before he'd even left the bed, he had found himself having to order a new phone online because his current one was smashed to pieces on the far side of the room.

Cassie had come barging in at eleven in the morning with his favourite Starbucks coffee, and a giant greasy sandwich. He didn't ask where she had got it from, all he wanted to do was freaking eat the thing; definitely a good start to his birthday by anyone's standards. They had spent the next three hours curled up in his bed watching Netflix and discussing Cassie's latest girlfriend who had dumped her because she wasn't a vegan, and couldn't deal with their 'cultural differences'.

By two o'clock in the afternoon they had worked their way through the entire first season of Hannibal, deciding that Mads Mikkelsen was the most unattractive attractive person to exist, and had eaten three bags of junk food and cookies. They were planning to go out for a meal later on, and would join some other friends in town afterwards. Cassie had been scrolling through his facebook wall when she had asked the question that made him tense right up against her.

“Who's Isaac Lahey? Is he your ex-boyfriend or something? He's hot”

He panicked for a few moments, and he was pretty sure his entire life flashed before his eyes before he swallowed and shook his head.

“Nah, he's one of my best friends. He's an orphan, I let him have the house when my dad died,” he finally said, putting all his effort into sounding nonchalant, getting momentarily distracted by Hugh Dance on the TV in his underwear. What? Stiles had his priorities straight, okay?

He glanced down at the message she had been referring to.

'Happy Birthday loser, have a drink on me; save the doggy treats for later. Love you'

Stiles couldn't stop the saddened smirk flitting across his mouth as he acknowledged the dog joke. Cassie traced soft patterns with her hand down the bare middle of his pectoral muscles and he knew she was trying to comfort him. It's why he kept her around, she wasn't pushy, she didn't want an answer for everything, she just sort of allowed him to... to _be_. She was exactly what he needed in his life. She looked after him, but made him think for himself as well, didn't allow him to take his shit out on her, made sure he wasn't wallowing too much. She spent birthdays with him cuddling in bed and watching a show about Hannibal Lecter and consuming enough sugar to induce a diabetic coma. She was his friend and he would always be grateful for her.

She knew about his dad dying just before he came to uni, but she didn't know anything else, and she didn't make him tell her either.

“He seems fond of you. Are you related?”

“No, we – we're sort of part of a family though. My friends, we kind of... we're a unit. Well, we _were_ anyway; I left to do new things, it sort of scattered everything about. I don't talk to them as much as I should to be honest, I'm not a good friend anymore,” he sighed, running his left hand through his hair, ignoring the metallic taste in his mouth that was always there when he was anxious. Fucking past. Why wouldn't it all just go away? Could it just like, not exist, just so he could get on with his life and fuck hot guys, and hang with Cassie and get his honours degree and publish books and life in England for a while? Why did it have to be so freaking complicated? What had Stiles ever done wrong? Oh, okay, maybe not the right question to be asking himself, seeing as he was _not_ going down that road right now.

“Oh don't be fucking stupid Stiles,” Cassie said.

Stiles was confused as to why she was suddenly sat up looking exasperated.

“I'm licking my wounds here – oh fucking hell with the dog jokes-”

“You're a good friend! Don't tell me you're not because I'm an ex-cancer patient which makes me automatically right about everything and no one is allowed to argue with me,” she snapped, but ended up making a sarcastic comment. She slapped him for nearly laughing.

“You are a good friend. So maybe you talk a lot about everything, and don't tell me anything about your life before uni which could mean that you're a serial killer or something – please don't look like you can't deny that when I'm trying to make a point – my point is,” she took a breath, sitting up a little straighter, a hand on his diaphragm to support herself “my point is that I almost died because I had something inside of me that I couldn't control, and I didn't think I would ever be happy again during that time period, I didn't think I'd get the chance to be happy. But I came to uni thinking I would be alone, and that I could deal with that; but you were here Stiles, and you are nothing like me, but I really need you in my life, especially when there is always a fifty percent chance I could die at any time.”

Stiles didn't know what to say, so he just sort of stayed there propped up against his pillows, blanket tangled around them whilst she continued to watch him process what she had just told him.

“You're really good at pep talks,” he finally remarked, raising an eyebrow, still looking a little numb.

“I know, it's my forte,” she shrugged with a smile full of sunshine as usual. It made him want to roll his eyes and just forget everything and just be friends with her for the rest of his life and not worry about anything else.

“I've forgotten what the point of this conversation was,” he frowned.

“You were telling me about how you left your family because your dad died and it’s all shit; and now, I'm telling you that if you don't go back to Beacon Hills for summer break, I'm revoking your coffee privileges for the next year”

“How the fuck do you even know what it's called? I never told you where I used to live”

“I got curious”

“Of course you did-”

“Stiles, stop trying to distract me! You're going back to Beacon Hills in three months or I'm going to drag you there myself”

It was ridiculous notion, because no one would be able to drag him anywhere he didn't want to go; no one human anyway. But Cassie was giving him puppy eyes and she knew about the family and his dad and Beacon Hills and dammit why did he always pick the manipulative little puppies for best friends?

“I'll think about it,” he said eventually, crossing his arms over his naked chest and sulking.

“There's something more, isn't there?” she suddenly asked, searching his face. He panicked again, but managed to simply look innocent and confused.

“I have no idea what you're talking about"

“There's another reason why you won't go back there, something different”

Correction, why did he have to pick the manipulative, _intelligent_ puppies for best friends?

“Is it a guy?” she asked, watching him carefully. He wanted really badly to hide his face, or at least shift a little under the scrutiny; but she'd suspect, and no one was allowed to hear it out loud, they couldn't because then he'd make it real, and he couldn't deal with that.

“No,” he said, shaking his head once. He couldn't make eye contact, but he knew she'd guess that he was lying either way. He didn't like this, he felt like he was stuck between a rock and a hard place again.

“Bullshit, it's a guy,” she said. Stiles simply sat there not looking at her, in silence. He couldn't explain it, he couldn't even begin to.

“Look,” she changed her tactics so obviously, Stiles even considered shutting her out whilst he pretended to listen, but she was clever and he knew that she never said anything that didn't matter “I know what it's like, I've been like this before. It was a different situation, but I do know what it's like to be hooked on someone. When I was a kid, I knew this guy; he was really not conventionally good-looking, but I thought he was perfect.

He was a douchebag, but he had a good heart, he was sweet and intelligent and funny and I really liked him. I never had any idea whether he wanted me as well, but I remember sitting there and wanting to bang my head against a brick wall every time he liked my facebook status or nonchalantly hugged me, because I was so confused by it, I liked him so much but I couldn't do anything about it. He was in love with one of my friends of course, that was obvious, but we always had this... understanding, you know, I knew he had a lot of respect for me. I knew he gave a shit. At my prom, he asked me to dance, told me that he believed in me, that he knew I was going to be famous one day and that he was sorry for being such a prat.

Stiles, my point is, that this guy was there when I least expected him to be, when no one else was, when I was most alone. He sat by my bed in the hospital even though we weren't even that close and he made me laugh when I was dying. My _point_ is, if you have someone that can make you smile even when you're ready to give up, then you need to hold onto him, you can't push him away, you can't make yourself let go of him and claim that you're doing it to make yourself happy,” her voice was gentle, truthful, and when he looked into her eyes, he knew she was telling the truth, that she regretted leaving this boy behind, that it physically pained her to talk about it, despite the fact that she was over it.

Stiles hated regrets. He had so many of them. He regretted not spending more time with his father when he was alive, he regretted not telling his mother how much he really fucking loved her. He regretted being socially awkward his entire life, not fighting his own bullies, spending so much time caught up on Lydia. He regretted not paying attention when Derek's family were burnt down inside their house when Stiles was thirteen, he regretted avoiding looking at him in school the weeks following the fire because he didn't want to feel obliged to go and comfort him. He regretted a lot of things. He didn't want to add anything else to the list.

But he just couldn't do that, he couldn't go there with Derek, he'd never get out and he needed to have his own life, he needed to grow and learn and publish books and travel. Derek had his pack, his home was Beacon Hills, his house was there, his new family. He was their alpha, Stiles couldn't ask him to leave them, he wouldn't ever put him in that position.

“I don't know what you want me to do,” he breathed, tears stinging his eyes, quietly clearing the lump in his throat. Cassie sighed, shoulders dropping again. She moved back down, cuddling back into him, her crazy hair tickling his chest. He wrapped his arms around her and buried his face in her curls, closing his eyes and pretending the world around him didn't exist.

“I want you to be you Stiles, and they are a part of who you are. You can't throw them out of your life like they're a bag of old laundry,” she replied, voice barely audible as she pressed a soft kiss to the upside of his hand. He knew she was right, he really did. It didn't make it hurt any less.

* * *

“So, let’s just assume that for a moment, Mother Courage knew what she was doing when she held off the deal on her son's life in order to scrounge more money, what would that represent?"

Some kid to the far side of the room answered something about her being symbolic of the selfishness of war, and using death to subconsciously make ends meet. Stiles hated Mother Courage's character, she was against everything he stood for; she was all about making money and staying alive, Stiles was about others, keeping his friends alive, his family. He did, however, on occasion, like to have new things benefiting him as a result of conflict, although, he was pretty sure that he was doomed to repeat the phrase 'this is why we can't have nice things'.

He often wondered when his optimistic attitude had disappeared, when he had kind of lost himself in moments of horrible negativity. Well, it sort of came with the package of being half man, half wolf.

The idiot behind Stiles whispering a homophobic rant to his friend, was really irritating him, pulling him out of his private thought processes. He drew in a breath to stop his annoyance from spiking, and simply clicked his fingers under the desk. The teacher asked the guy a question but his eyes widened as he tried to reply, his hands grasping his throat in shock. Well, it was simple really, Stiles was not in a good mood, and he didn't like hearing the bigoted asshole's voice, so he took it away from him. He could practically see the disapproving look Deaton would be giving him if he had been there.

“Cain, are you feeling okay?”

“He's lost his voice sir, I don't think he can talk... at all,” his fed up looking friend appeared almost relieved to find that 'Cain's voice wasn't there anymore. Stiles would reverse the spell later when he'd had enough satisfaction of watching the dude scamper around campus trying desperately to rasp out a sentence. For now, Stiles had to get enjoyment where he could.

* * *

The hoover he had bewitched to move around his dorm room froze in place and switched off immediately the moment there was a knock on his door. Stiles was sat cross-legged on his bed, surrounded by a matrix of papers and notes from essays and lessons. He was writing up his final piece of coursework for the semester and he had been at it since seven that morning. The sudden disturbance made his eyes flicker down to the time at the corner of his laptop screen and his eyebrows hit the top of his head when he saw that it was half one in the afternoon. 

He stood up on the mattress and jumped athletically over the bed, landing on the floor and straightening his knees, moving to pull the door handle slightly to see who was bothering him when he was trying to get something done.

“I'm in the middle of this final piece Cass, can you just come back later – fuck,” Stiles felt his heart jump through his chest and wrap itself around his throat as he clapped eyes on a grinning Isaac stood outside his door, hands in the pockets of his leather jacket, hair slightly longer but curly as ever, eyes bright and full of enthusiasm and cheekiness just like always. Stiles was not prepared for this.

“Hey there stranger, I was in the neighbourhood,” he remarked, tilting his head to the left slightly and widening his smile “this place stinks of pheromones and fast food. Man I'd forgotten how much academia reeks”

Isaac looked... well, grown up. Sort of. He still had the demeanour of a puppy, which is probably why the dude got on so well with Scott, but he somehow seemed to be, dare Stiles say it, matured. He hadn't changed much really though, and Stiles couldn't help the ridiculous grin coating his mouth when Isaac wrapped him in a tight hug.

“It looks like a bomb hit this place, what the hell are you doing? And who's Cass?”

“Cassie is the one that probably emailed you and told you that I needed someone to come and see me,” Stiles assumed, making a mental note to be angry with her later on.

“Oh, that chick? She's pretty gorgeous actually, I might be having a conversation with her later, if I can help it,” he replied, following Stiles into the room and plonking himself down on the spinny chair at Stiles' desk. Stiles settled himself back on the bed, but faced his friend, looking guilty and unsure of how to deal with the fact that pack scent was mingling with his dorm room. He might need to call in fumigation next week, just so that he didn't curl up in a ball and end up burying his nose in everything that Isaac had touched.

“Cassie is a smart woman and she's not stupid enough to be pulled in by your ridiculously adorable curls Isaac Lahey,” Stiles insisted, leaning his back against the headboard and crossing is legs over each other, looking at him, trying to keep his inner panic from seeping into his expression.

“I'm awesome, she's awesome, there's no problem with it. Besides, I'm obviously not going to have an extended welcome here anyway, so it's not like you've got anything to worry about. I've just popped in to tell you that Erica and Boyd are getting married in two months, and you need to be there”

Stiles thought his throat was going to close over. He felt a mixture of joy for his friends, and complete and utter consternation. He was going to have to go back, to wear a suit and pretend that everything was okay, to smile and laugh and joke and drink and eat a three course meal and try not to think about the fact that his father wasn't there to laugh and joke with him. Fuck.

“Wow. She couldn't have called me and told me this herself?” Stiles asked, a bit put out. He didn't talk to them all that much, but he liked to think that Erica was the one he had the best communication with.

“She's a little sidetracked with the planning right now. For someone so laid back, she's freaking bridezilla. I've had my manly parts threatened a total of fifteen times since Boyd proposed last week and they set the date. Besides, you know, Cassie told me you're depressed so I figured it was sort of my duty to come and kick you up the ass. I didn't think you'd appreciate Derek's appearance as much as mine”

Stiles' gut did a flip – seriously man, get over it – when Derek's name was mentioned so casually. He knew Isaac was watching him, gauging his reaction.

“I don't know what I would have done,” he agreed “I'm not depressed anyway, I'm stressed, it's mandatory for university students dude,” Stiles replied, shrugging it off. He wasn't depressed. Stiles knew what being depressed was like; he remembered it. When he was depressed, he never used to have any enthusiasm for anything, he would skip meals, run himself stupid, sit in the dark for hours at a time staring ahead of himself, basking in the numbness. He remembered being suicidal, and this was not it.

He was past that.

It had been after his father had died. Stiles had surprisingly clear memories of it all, whereas be barely remembered a thing about when his mother had died.

He remembered being driven home by Scott afterwards whilst Derek cleaned up the body and passed it off as an animal attack, he remembered actually having to be helped into the house. He remembered not speaking a single word for days. He remembered sitting up in his bed for hours all through the night, listening to the world go on outside his house, the wind, the birds, the trees.

Then he remembered being angry, he remembered trashing his room, shifting and ripping the lounge to shreds, he remembered passing out on the floor in the kitchen from rage and grief. He remembered strong, familiar arms pulling him up after he had been curled up in the corner shaking for ten hours and he remembered being wrapped up in those arms for an uncountable amount of time before they had left him and he had been alone, numb finally, lost in something that was completely unexplainable and the denial that there was no way this had happened, there was no way that it was true.

That week he had returned to his job at the local café, speaking only when necessary and doing his chores. He tidied the house. Derek came round without talking, and they painted the walls and moved in new sofas and fixed his bedroom up all in total silence.

Half way through that month, he made the decision to begin applying to universities. He no longer needed to be locked down to the floor on full moons, and his pain was felt all through the pack. He had five thousand saved up in his bank account, and his inheritance was being discussed by his fathers solicitors. The house had been left to him, but the moment he had received the deeds, he had signed it over to Isaac, who had been temporarily living with Derek and was also an orphan. Then he had announced his planned departure to The University of California which was approximately a three hour car journey from Beacon Hills.

Derek hadn't talked to him from then right up until the moment he had left and the stupid asshat had left it until the last minute to ask Stiles to stay.

So yes, Stiles knew how bad depression could get, and right now, he wasn't depressed.

“You're not working yourself too hard or anything, are you Stiles? You're sleeping okay, eating okay? Cause werewolves still need to do that you know, our bodies aren't robotic, we still need nutrition-”

“I'm fine!” Stiles half-snapped, drawing in a sharp breath, knowing that his eyes had flashed because Isaac's eyes widened and he sat up slightly more “seriously man!” Stiles softened his tone slightly, getting a better grip on his anchor “I'm okay. It's not perfect, and sometimes it hurts a lot being away from you guys, but I love it at the same time. I'm studying my passion, I've written a book, I have a good friend; I'm doing fine so everybody just needs to stop asking me if I'm okay,” Stiles repeated in an irritable tone, tensing his jaw.

There was a little bout of silence before Isaac's shoulders slumped slightly and he exhaled a rattly whisper of air. He rolled his tongue around his mouth before he nodded.

“Sure man, you're fine, whatever,” Isaac wasn't buying it at all, Stiles knew that, but there wasn't anything else he could say without blurting everything out “just... I don't know, make sure that you don't go... rabid, or anything. Alphas can do that if they're separated from their pack for too long you know, they can become... I think the word was 'feral'-”

“Isaac if I take you to lunch will you stop trying to give me heart failure? I'm repressing everything okay, it's healthy, and I don't need you fucking with it because it's worked well for me so far,” Stiles lied again. He had learned of course, to keep his heart beat steady when doing so, and Isaac still suspected nothing. Besides, he was pretty sure he could evoke his alpha powers if the dude didn't shut up about the pack.

“Food!” he exclaimed, his face lighting up, eyes sparkling with joy. Stiles rolled his eyes, saving his work and closing his laptop, levitating the hover back into the cupboard whilst he jumped down from the bed again, grabbing his coat and throwing it around his shoulders.

“C'mon then pup, move your ass. I'm sure we can find a steak somewhere near campus,” Stiles sighed, relieved that he had successfully distracted Isaac. The food thing always worked, the dude loved it; in fact, Stiles was pretty sure that Isaac would marry food if it wasn't creepy and weird and probably illegal.

He waited for Isaac to zoom passed him out of the front door, before locking it behind him, gathering his scattered wits before he followed after his friend, preparing himself for an onslaught of emotional issues once Isaac had left. Wonderful, this was going to be so fucking easy.

Damn Cassie and her damn interference.

Stiles hated pubs. It smelt of alcohol, sexual frustration, a bitter spike of cigarette smoke clinging to fabric, and piss. It was too loud as well, his brain struggling to hone in on one conversation at a time, his supernatural hearing blaring vibrations through his mind, giving him a headache. But Isaac had been whining at him for a proper beer and some 'pup grub' as the English apparently called it, so he had been forced to bring him to the only pub on campus that cooked food.

“Just two beers please” Stiles nodded at the bar tender as they sat down on the stools, getting an all-too-friendly glance from a guy sat at the other end of the room talking to his jock friends. Stiles didn't smile back, he really wasn't in the mood for it and obviously he had Isaac with him, so he most definitely was keeping a close eye on the amount of drink they were consuming. Isaac had a knack for dragging people into partying with him; Stiles couldn't count the times they had gone out for a 'nice meal' and ended up writhing against sweaty bodies jumping to the frantic beating of dub step in nightclubs with ridiculously unimaginative names.

He was surprised Cassie wasn't already in the pub already actually, she liked to eat her lunch in there with some of her alternative acquaintances after a morning of studying the novel they had been set for the month.

“So you obviously have to tell me what your love life is like right now, it would be a shame if we didn't live up to the cliché,” Isaac grinned as he scanned the laminated menu in front of him, glancing sideways at Stiles for a second. He huffed out dramatically, puffing his cheeks out as the breath left him, shrugging.

“There hasn't been a love life. I was dating someone for a few weeks when I first got here, but we sort of just decided that it wasn't going to be convenient, seeing as we were both giant balls of love sickness and heartbreak, recovering from our previously traumatic romantic conquests,” he explained. Isaac coughed out a laugh, letting out a slightly sad breath. Stiles sensed the small wave of nostalgia floating from his friend. He supposed the failure of his and Derek's relationship had been something like the divorcing of parents to the rest of the pack.

“So you're stinking of frustration because you haven't been laid in ages?”

“No, I always smell like that dumbass,” Stiles pouted, punching him in the arm and thanking the bar maid when she put their drinks in front of them.

Isaac ordered his food, and Stiles simply asked for a packet of crisps, not feeling like eating in case he chucked the contents of his stomach up.

Three topics of conversation later, just as Stiles was adjusting to actually having Isaac sat in front of him, animatedly telling him about the Chem class he was teaching at the high-school part time, Cassie strolled in with her rainbow coloured bag wrapped around her body, a light blue blazer over her dark blue skater dress and converses. She smiled widely, hopping up on the bar stool the other side of Stiles and stealing one of his crisps, pressing a rough kiss to Stiles' cheek.

“Having fun?” she asked them, ordering her own glass of white wine, and leaning her chin on Stiles' shoulder.

“We are now-”

“Oh my god don't even start,” Stiles shook his head, mortified.

“Are you going to kill me later?” Cassie asked, nibbling on her bottom lip and looking both guilty and mischievous.

“I haven't decided yet,” Stiles replied dully, drinking some more of his beer as Cass struck up a conversation with Isaac who had shifted into outrageous flirting mode.

It wasn't that bad actually, he kinda felt relaxed in a way, able to let his emotions tangle slightly as they talked, going through four beers before he had even realised it and, as it got into the later hours of the afternoon, and then evening, they ended up dancing, spinning and jumping and dramatically swooping; they probably looked like mental patients to the rest of the pub, but Stiles was having proper fun for the first time in a little while, so he didn't much care.

They stumbled out of there about half past midnight. Stiles and Isaac weren't drunk of course, their werewolf status sort of preventing the alcohol from doing anything more than perhaps making them a little less tight lipped than normal. Cassie, however, as the unsuspecting human, was slurring and laughing loudly, and she kept hugging them both extra tightly, calling them her 'cuddle monsters'. Stiles pretended not to notice that she gave Isaac her number when they walked her back to her dorm, and wondered slightly if it was going to be more difficult to deal with if Isaac was going to become a permanent fixture in his life again.

He was certainly feeling the pain creeping up on him again as Isaac walked him to the front door of his dorm block, hands in his pockets, breath visible in the air. Stiles could sense the sadness flowing from him too, and it stung like a bitch.

“You can crash here you know, you-”

“Nah, I'm going to run for a while, get your scent off before I go back to the motel. It won't be received well if I turn up back home stinking of you, Derek might actually die,” Isaac cut him off, and Stiles even caught a little bit of bitterness in his tone.

“Right, sure. Well, I'll – I'll definitely be at the wedding if you just text me the date and time. I might come back a couple of days early actually, if you don't mind me staying at your place,” he suggested. It hurt full force now, and he couldn't really hide it. He didn't want to say goodbye again, Isaac was one of the pups, one of his best friends, he loved him and he missed being around him a lot. God Stiles had to stop himself thinking, he was going soft.

“You're always welcome, it was your house first man. I – well, I guess I'll – see you later then,” he said, awkwardly scratching the back of his head. Stiles nodded, swallowing before huffing out a breath of irritation, and yanking Isaac in for another hug, burying his nose in the fabric of his shirt, inhaling pack and home and everything that was familiar. The wolf was sighing at him, tutting at his behaviour, angry at him for depriving himself of it all.

“We miss you Stiles” Isaac mumbled, and Stiles couldn't help the clog of emotion in his throat, tears welling up in his eyes “we miss you so much.”

* * *

Stiles looked awesome in a well fitted suit, okay. He always had done; something he had learned over the years was that his beanpole figure was perfect for Westwood blazers and trousers, and Cassie, his honorary date to the wedding, had brought him a new silk, dark purple tie, claiming that his old one looked like it belonged to her dead grandfather. He also found that the decision to grow his hair out slightly in the last couple of years had been a very good one, the smart load of slightly messy hair ontop of his head made him look a lot more solid, and filled out his face, which, when it wasn't pale with anxiety and lack of sunlight, was actually quite attractive. 

Stiles wasn't stupid, he knew he had come into his own.

Cassie of course, the big ball of bright sunshine that she was, was bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet excited. He still didn't understand how she managed to move so fucking gracefully in those ridiculously high black heels she was wearing with a blue dress that was body hugging to her thighs, but had a longer back in the form of a soft netting, stopping at her ankles. Her hair was blonde and curly as ever and she had painted her lips in a dark red colour, a line of black subtly shaping her eyelids as she grinned at him in the mirror where he was leant in the doorway behind her, hands in his pockets, a fond smile on his face.

“You're really quite gorgeous,” she sighed, clasping her purse shut and standing up from her dressing table.

“Ah bullshit, it won't be me they're looking at when we walk in. You look beautiful by the way, as if you didn't already know,” he replied, brushing off her compliment and returning it in his usual teasing fashion. She grinned even wider and nodded, holding out a hand for him to take as she moved a little closer. He stood up straight, slipping forward a step and accepting the palm of her soft, manicured hand against his.

“Stop freaking out Stiles, it's going to be fine. You won’t even have to talk to him for that long, Erica told you already that you're not placed next to him at the pack table. Besides, you'll have me, I'll be there. And Scott, and Isaac. Plenty of your other things to keep you busy, even if I think it's completely unhealthy that you're refusing to really have much interaction with the guy that you're in _love_ with, but whatever, I can't force you to talk to him,” she said, pulling him forward so he tripped into her and ended up hugging her tightly, arms wrapped around her waist, face buried in her hair.

“Its-”

“Complicated. It always is when they're special,” she sighed again against his shoulder and pulled away, reaching up to cup the side of his face momentarily “but this isn't about Derek. It’s your friend's wedding, how about we make it about Erica and Boyd today, hmm?” she suggested sternly despite keeping the soft edge to her tone. He drew in a shaky, steadying breath and swallowed, straightening out his back and nodding once, plastering his Stiles smile across his face and brightening his eyes; it was a mask he'd have to wear all day.

“I'm just going to go toilet before we go,” she said, heading towards the en-suit. He rolled his eyes and moved back towards the door.

“I'll meet you downstairs,” he called after her sprinting down the staircase that used to belong to him, and his father before that. Now it was Isaac's, and one that the nineteen year old seemed to be keeping well; Stiles was confident he hadn't made a mistake in giving it to his friend. It would be a good place for Isaac to live for a very long time, and maybe even build a family in one day. There was little here but memories for Stiles; he could sleep in his old bed and eat breakfast in the kitchen in the morning, but he couldn't do it regularly and he most certainly wouldn't be able to keep his sanity if he had kept the entire place to himself. He didn't think his dad would mind, he'd probably tell him well done, for giving it to someone who really needed it, and who would look after it better than Stiles ever could.

Isaac looked at home there anyway, comfortable. It was just right for him.

And so when he accepted the beer Isaac offered him from the old refrigerator, Stiles smiled; at least he had gotten something right.

* * *

Stiles was trying really, desperately hard not to shake or blurt out random drabbling about stupid, insignificant things. By the time they got to the church, he was clutching a hold of Cassie’s hand for dear life and had his jaw clenched, his lips in the only default thin smile he could really manage at that point. Every muscle in his body was crying out at him to just ditch it. To let go of Cass’ hand and go running at the speed of light into the forest as far away as he could get from his friends as possible. 

At the same time, he was routed to the destination, kissing people’s cheeks as they greeted him with soft face pats and that pitying look in their eyes that made him have to work harder than ever to keep his temper, to use his anchor and keep it under control.

But he could already feel the bastard, smell him and his damn cologne. He had a feeling that history or not, he’d be able to pick Derek out from the crowd if he was still back at his house two miles away because he stank of terror and nerves and… well, yeah, the same thing that Stiles was probably emitting at that point.

“Man up,” Cass hissed at him from his right “you’re going to break my damn hand,” she snapped.

He immediately loosened his grip, pressing an apologetic kiss to the top of her head through her curls, and taking a step forward, feeling his heart beat quicken, his stomach drop, and his knees get wobbly.

“Seriously you’re a complete fool sometimes Stiles,” Cass sighed, taking the lead and pulling him forward down the aisle to their allocated seats. Thank god Erica had the decency to at least not put him in the same row as Derek, although it might have been even worse, that anomaly sat right behind him, living and breathing and most likely looking absolutely delicious in a designer suit. He drew in a deep, shaky breath and swallowed hard, sitting up straighter and exhaling through his nose, forcing himself to relax as much as he could, still grasping on Cassie’s hand.

“Stop fussing,” that voice froze Stiles in place for a second as he could practically feel the low, quiet decibels tickling the hairs at the back of his neck “I sorted the caterer, there’s no way he’s forgetting anything”

Stiles almost smiled as Scott replied with a moody grumble. Stiles knew exactly what ‘sorted’ meant. Really, some things never changed; and Derek’s aptitude for terrifying people into doing things for him was one of them.

“This is beautiful!” Cassie breathed, big wide eyes fawning over the church’s architecture, the white lilies tastefully hanging off certain bannisters, draped over several surfaces, twirled intricately around the organ at the back of the room; it _was_ beautiful, he had to admit. Erica had done an amazing job. But then, he never doubted her; if she wanted something done perfectly, she’d do it herself and god help the dumbass who stood in her way.

“Not as beautiful as you,” Isaac grinned as he sat down next to Cassie, winking at her and reaching over her lap to place a firm, grounding hand on Stiles’ knee “calm down. You look like someone’s about to carve out your spleen,” he said in a soft tone, smiling still with one side of his mouth. Stiles smiled back, knowing for a fact that Derek had heard.

“Its only morning,” Stiles replied with another rattly breath in “there’s still time for that to happen”

“I’m not ruling it out,” Derek’s voice spoke in a slightly hushed tone and Stiles heard every syllable even though he was sat right back against the wooden benches “it is you after all. It wouldn’t be a pack event without someone getting something ripped out of their body”

Despite the ridiculousness of the situation, Stiles smiled yet again, not being able to help himself. It was true. Although he was glad Cassie hadn’t heard it with her human ears; that might have been a little bit of an alarm bell for her to run a mile, and he had few friends away from home these days.

“Always count on me,” Stiles whispered back “but now I have claws, so anything can happen”

* * *

 

“Oh jesus no, we are not letting Scott near fireworks ever again,” Stiles shook his head absolutely, everyone laughing at Scott's sulky little pout. Stiles leaned back against his chair, one arm lazily resting around the back of Cassie's as she sipped on her glass of wine and listened intently to every word the pack were saying around the table; she was charismatic as ever, and chatted easily with everyone, making them laugh, awh and stare at her with fascination as she talked about herself and her life just at the right moments, not seeming too cocky or self-involved, yet interesting and considerate. Isaac, as expected, spent the whole time hitting on her, putting on his sexiest puppy dog look, fully aware of how handsome he looked in his tux.

Stiles was weary of how much they were touching her though, a hand on the arm in the middle of a conversation, an shoulder pressed against hers when they were stood up, socialising with other people, the occasional affectionate hug; he didn't want them to get too comfortable, he knew what they were like for scent marking, he was even being careful not to let them touch _him_ too much, let alone Cassie. They were very good at keeping their wolfishness under wraps when they were around humans, Stiles noticed that they had actually got significantly better; apart from the touching, Cassie couldn't have noticed a thing. That's if she didn't already know, and simply hadn't told him; she was like that, intuitive, she found out the impossible when she put her mind to it. He was still pretty damn sure she could read what he was thinking sometimes.

“Dude, that was one time,” Scott defended himself, and it only made everyone laugh even more. The conversation took another turn after that and Stiles let himself relax a little more into the background, his fingers subconsciously playing with a couple of Cassie's curls whilst they all talked, all listening as she animatedly talked about the time she dated a Greek guy with an Irish accent. He could feel eyes on him of course, he had felt them watching him from the moment the wedding had started; he wasn't stupid, he knew when someone was staring at him, he just chose to ignore it. The moment he moved his head to meet those eyes, things would go downhill, and he couldn't let that happen, not when he was doing so well at convincing everyone he was okay.

“I could have sworn something was funny with the guy though, he was always sniffing at me, touching me; and he was very territorial, like a dog. Actually, his whole family was like that,” Cassie frowned as she talked about the Irish Greek. She had told Stiles about it before, and he had come to his own conclusions that she had indeed probably been unknowingly dating a werewolf for a small part of her life. A Greek Irish werewolf apparently, so he was able to cover up the shared looks of the pack by intercepting and dropping in an anecdote about Greece he had read in the library the other day; that lead on to Greek food, which lead onto fast food and everyone's favourite meals and then snacks and so forth, doggy hides successfully saved.

* * *

“I'm pretty sure no one ever taught you how to use doors,” Stiles remarked without having to turn around as he carried on packing and Derek dropped through his window, moving to sit on the desk chair. It was such a normal thing for him to do, so regular and familiar, that Stiles very nearly forgot everything that had happened. Nearly. 

“Maybe I just have a thing for this particular window,” Derek replied, and Stiles could feel his eyes on his back again, and Derek's voice was low and smaller than normal, which meant that he was treading on egg shells, unsure of what his boundaries were. Stiles couldn't blame the guy for being uncertain, it wasn't like they had ever really parted on excellent, clear terms free of crippling pain and betrayal. But there was still an unspoken understanding between them both, and that would never really go away.

“Maybe you're just really fucking weird and you're never going to grow out of your creepy stalker tendencies,” Stiles half-smiled even though he still had his back to his ex-boyfriend, and took the last couple of sweaters from the bed, folding them and putting them in his suitcase.

They had ended up staying for an extra couple of weeks because – well, because Cassie was a persistent bitch when she wanted to be, and she had the same ability as Lydia when it came to getting people to give her what she wanted, werewolf or not. Still, Stiles was persistent and determined as well, it was a Stilinski gene, and if he wanted to avoid someone, he was bloody good at it, and he had been avoiding Derek like the plague apart from when it was completely inevitable.

“Oh didn't you hear? I do it for a living now, I'm very good at it,” Derek's voice floated around the room again and Stiles raised his eyebrows, letting out a breathy laugh and zipping the case up, turning around for the first time and leaning back against it, crossing his arms over his chest, deliberately not meeting Derek's eyes.

“So you're funny now, well hey funny guy, use the damn door next time, okay?” he teased further, dropping his head to the left on his neck and chewing the inside of his mouth.

“It’s more interesting this way. You're leaving then?” Derek gestured, abruptly ending the playful atmosphere, as usual, bringing Stiles back down to earth and making him momentarily panic.

“Yeah, just waiting on Cassie to get her shit together, then we're going back to campus, we've got classes on Monday morning,” he nodded, straightening his head again and looking down at the floor, nibbling on his lip this time, trying to figure out what he was supposed to say to make it better, what he was supposed to do to convey how much he really didn't want to leave that room.

“Is Isaac driving you back up there?” Derek asked. He wasn't making small talk, he wanted to know how Stiles was getting back to his dorms, and if it would be safe. Stiles wanted to stab himself in the face with his claws.

“Yeah, then he's staying over in my dorm; it’s only a three hour car journey, but he's my beta, and special healing juju or not, I don't want him driving back through the night,” Stiles tried to explain it in a way that didn't touch on the pack dynamics, because that was a sensitive subject, but there wasn't really any other way he could think of right then to describe the fact that there was no way that as a second alpha, he was letting one of his betas drive through the night by himself. He’d seen too many horror movies to allow it.

“Shame, you could have stuck around a little longer, Cass seems to have won everyone over; Erica loves her. I’m starting to think she might actually-”

“Can we not do that?” Stiles interrupted with a quiet, almost pained expression, hanging his head slightly “can we not make every encounter we have about them? I know they’re supposed to be like our kids and everything, but we did that too much for too long and I know what you’re doing when you talk about them to me, it just means you’re deflecting from talking about us,” he swallowed, unable to help himself. It had to be said.

“That’s all you’ve been doing for the last two weeks. The last three years actually,” Derek retorted, sounding slightly irritated and very, very bitter. That’s not what Stiles meant, not what he wanted. He didn’t want to leave on bad terms again, he didn’t want to fight. It had always been default of their relationship, to argue, poke at each other’s weak spots; it was one of the reasons they had been so compatible, one of the reasons they had so much chemistry. But this was too much, and he was already so broken, and expecting to spend the next few weeks pining in his dorm room between lectures, he didn’t want the added guilt of having left on an argument with the person he loved the most in the world.

“I know,” Stiles replied stoically “I know that, and I’m sorry, I’m a coward. We both are. But I don’t want this,” he breathed the last couple of words almost desperately, the strength leaving his body slightly “I don’t want to keep hurting you every time I say goodbye and I don’t want you to hate me”

There was a silence between them before Derek let out a very obviously controlled breath, clenching his jaw slightly and taking a singular step forward.

“I told you before,” he said, and it was guarded and firm; but Stiles knew he was about to make himself vulnerable, so he kept his mouth shut and listened carefully “I never hated you, I could never hate you Stiles. Not even if you left a million times and we argued every single one of them. I couldn’t hate you if you killed one of our betas or if you turned into a douchebag and started wearing ironic t-shirts again-”

“That buzz light year tee was awesome okay-”

“My point is,” Derek half-snapped, glaring at him to be quiet “I don’t hate you at all, not even a little bit. In fact…” he collected a much deeper, harsher breath and Stiles had to close his eyes and lift his head to the ceiling because he knew what was coming “you know what? Hold that, I’m not going to say it, because I know you’ll beat yourself up about it, and I’ll be a wreck for another six months and – why has our relationship always been so fucking unhealthy?” Derek cursed. Stiles opened his mouth ever so slightly, brought his chin down again, slowly opened his eyelids and looked straight at Derek, eyes full of sadness and held back tears.

“Because we love each other too damn much,” he croaked, smiling gently. He turned then, picked up his bag, and left the room.

* * *

He was hunched over again, sat on the edge of the mountain, clad in the same black jeans, the same leather jacket and t-shirt, same black sneakers. His scalp was cradled in his hands as the wind rushed through him, over his skin, covered in a lick of sweat from running so much. The entirety of Beacon Hills shone before him, full of people sleeping, having sex, grocery shopping at three in the morning because insomnia wouldn’t let them get some shut eye; people watching TV, trailing out of clubs and bars after last orders. People. 

And it was getting loud again, messy. But this time it was different. This time he was used to it. Tired, exhausted and simply resigned to this feeling inside of him, this horribly wonderful feeling that made him weak and limp. This feeling that only ever lead to pain for him.

“You think you got everybody fooled, doncha?” Erica spoke as she plonked herself down next to him, shoulder pressing warmly against his, looking out on the town, mirroring his pensive look “well, not me. I’ve known you too long and regrettably too well, and no matter how hard you try to deny it, I can tell you care as much about him as he cares about you. Only you haven’t got the big, hairy cojones to say it” she smirked a little, and he could see it out of the corner of his eyes. She was right, of course, and it terrified him as much now as it did back when he was actually with Stiles.

“Maybe I could borrow yours,” he retorted, making her chuckle and shove him a little.

“Call him,” she said in an almost pleading tone then “please Der, just call him and say something to him, anything. I hate seeing you like this every time he goes, it hurts and its scary and you’re not going to break this cycle if you keep going on like this-”

“I don’t know what you want me to say to him,” he blasted “everyone wants me to make it right but I don’t know how. I’m not good at this stuff Erica,” he exclaimed, eyes stinging with unshed tears again “I’m not cut out for it. I’m right where I need to be and he’s where he wants to be and I can’t change the fact that those are two different places”

“No,” she agreed “you can’t, but he’s your best friend and you love him, so you have to try”

And he knew – uggh he hated it – but he knew she was right.


	8. You're not even real, no one is that kind

“Oye hijo de puta,” Stiles answered – yeah bitches, he could speak Spanish now – his mobile pinned to his ear, held up between his chin and his shoulder as he continued to type with both of his hands, glancing every few seconds over at the essay he was copying up. He had gone through his tenth coffee in seven hours and he was pretty surprised that he hadn’t either gone into shock or gone blind from looking at the screen since three AM the previous morning when he had been woken by a nightmare and had desperately started working to occupy his painful thoughts.

"Why didn’t you go after him?” He startled so violently that he dropped his phone on the floor and nearly knocked his Starbucks take out over his keyboard. He could already feel the beginnings of a panic attack gripping at his chest and at the back of his throat and his mouth had gone dry and fuck this was the exact reason he’d been working non-stop for the last god knows how long. Best thing about uni, 24 hour library open on campus.

He tried to swallow, straightening his coffee cup with one shaking hand, saving his work, and drawing in the deepest breath he could manage without throwing up, bending in his chair to pick his phone up again.

“I’m in the middle of something Derek,” he said, meaning to sound solid and unwavered, even though he knew Derek could hear his thundering heartbeat on the other side of the line. His voice shook slightly, but he managed to appear surprisingly composed.

“Why didn’t you rip him apart?” the voice repeated and Stiles didn’t need to get him to clear up the ambiguity of what he was asking, he knew whom Derek was referring to, and it was something that no one had even dared to ask him in the entire two years since his father had been dead.

“Derek-”

“I mean, you’re a lover, not a fighter, everyone knows that. But Stiles, he killed your dad. Klaus tore your father’s throat out with his teeth and he didn’t feel a drop of remorse, he didn’t apologise or even have the mercy to give him his blood before he died so that he could at least have been around. He just… got away with it and the whole fucking thing was written off as an animal attack and you didn’t even go after him and out of all the unpredictable bullshit you’ve pulled in the three years I’ve known you, this was the strangest thing. I don’t get it,” he stated “why didn’t you track him – and yes I know you could because you’re a fucking genius – and torture him within an inch of his life? It’s what I would have done”

Stiles’ eyes were welling with stinging sharp tears that he could feel through his entire sinus system. His stomach was churning and he was slightly frozen in his seat before he slumped a little, swallowing hard, jaw clenched and pulsing as he gritted his teeth together. Did Derek honestly assume that Stiles hadn’t thought about it? Dreamt about it? Wanted nothing more in the months following his father’s death?

The truth was, he hadn’t been able to figure it out himself for a little while. He was confused as to why he was stopping himself from seeking Klaus out to go all dungeon man pain on him just the way he’d promised to if the evil bastard ever threatened or hurt someone he cared about ever again. But then he’d asked himself, what would it really accomplish? Okay, so it would give him some satisfaction, feed his wolf and relieve some of the intense fury his entire body had been buzzing with 24/7 following one of the worst nights of his life. Maybe it would have taught Klaus a lesson. Stiles might even have killed the guy, saved the world of such a lost, erratic creature that was simply too hateful and resentful to possess such power.

But Derek was right, Stiles was a lover, not a fighter. He didn’t want to have to live the rest of his life with yet another asshole added to his body count. He hated killing, it was his last resort and he hated it more than he hated Klaus.

He really must have drunk too much coffee because the librarian was shushing him before he realised that he was saying all of that out loud, more importantly, he was saying it all to Derek. He nodded a little numbly at the librarian and sort of waved a half-apology at her. There was a few moments of silence in which Stiles sat back in his chair, deflated and completely and utterly exhausted and, now he was not absorbed in the process of analysing Dario Fo’s We Won’t Pay as part of his topic on modernist literature, he was really fucking hungry. Maybe Cassie was still out in one of the bars on campus or something, it was half past midnight after all, he could probably call her to pick him up a McDonalds. He needed to vent to someone too, he didn’t want to slip into his old habit of scratching his skin with his claws or slipping and shifting in public.

“You’re ridiculous,” Derek’s voice came when Stiles was actually so caught up in his own head that he forgot he was even holding the phone to his ear, and he flailed about again, jumping out of his skin before settling a little, sighing “no, I mean you are actually not real. You can’t be, you’re so fucking-” Derek cut himself off and Stiles couldn’t help the small smile twitching his lips. He caught himself though, and it hurt, twanging in his chest, the urge to drive all the way back to Beacon Hills and bury his face in the dickwad’s stupid freaking neck or collar bone or something.

“How is it even possible for someone to be that kind?” Stiles’ breath hitched at that and the twang in his chest throbbed desperately as he tried to swallow the lump in his throat and blink back the fresh tears welling in his eyes again. He was so incredibly fed up of all of this, it was too repetitive and painful and he had no idea how to break the cycle without making it ten times more painful for everyone he knew and loved. Stiles sometimes forgot that Derek wasn’t used to people being kind, the dude didn’t understand how a werewolf could let someone who had hurt their pack walk away without a scratch. Derek’s life from the age of sixteen had been full of assholes he’d either had to fight or kill, people who had taken advantage of him and his stupid big heart and who had also paid the price of his temper, his defence mechanisms once they had betrayed him or hurt him.

And it hurt even more because Stiles knew he was on the list of people who had hurt Derek, the long, long list full of people who had tortured and captured and violated him. Leaving wasn’t much in comparison to all of those things, but Stiles knew it didn’t matter. Derek was a little boy. Underneath all that toughness and grunting and growling and glaring, he was a puppy, and Stiles leaving had literally been like kicking a puppy. A small, terrified puppy with big googly hazel eyes and PTSD issues the size of the freaking Grand Canyon.

“Its – I guess its just the way I was brought up. My mum always taught me to be all forgiving and second-chancy. I don’t know, I can’t explain it, it’s just the way I am-”

“ _You_ were my second chance,” Derek interrupted him and Stiles literally face palmed his keyboard, letting out a loud, tired groan of indignation. This was so difficult.

“No,” Stiles breathed against his mouse pad “I wasn’t. The pack were your second chance, our cubs. I was just a… an add on I guess. Dude you put me on a pedestal and I don’t deserve it, I’m not this incredible person you make me out to be. I’m an asshole, I leave people and I fuck things up and I run away and jesus fucking christ you need to figure that out otherwise I’m just going to keep disappointing you for the rest of my shitty little life and I don’t want to do that because I’m helplessly in love with you and I hate hurting the people I love more than I hate anything else in the whole world and I’m babbling,” he stopped for a breathing break and he – okay he needed to get this under control – he startled again when the librarian snapped at him from like out of nowhere.

“Stiles,” she hissed, her hipster glasses getting a little wonky on her pierced nose “I don’t care if it’s midnight and there’s no one in here, if you don’t shut your fucking mouth, I will shove that laptop so far up your-”

“Woah there Zeek,” he stopped her, putting his free hand up in a surrendering gesture “calm your tits, I got my ex-boyfriend on the phone and he’s making me have an existential crisis okay, I’ll shut up in a sec and then I’ll get out of your hair, okay?” he said to her, putting his hand over the receiver. Not that it made a difference, Derek’s werewolf hearing would pick it up anyway.

“Well hang up in a couple of minutes, nothing people say has decent consequences after midnight. Now seriously if you don’t keep it down, you will not be happy with the freaking outcome, okay?” she snapped again, narrowing her black painted eyelids at him before turning and prancing off.

“Why are you even awake at 12:30 in the morning anyway, don’t uni students need lots of sleep or something?” Derek asked when he put the phone back against his ear. Stiles snorted, flicking his eyebrows in the direction of the ceiling.

“No, that’s a myth, we’re practically nocturnal, except we don’t sleep in the day time either. Starbucks and Costa thrive on our exhaustion, it’s a healthy process”

“Go to bed Stiles,” Derek sighed “and actually sleep, don’t lay there and think over every single word that was just said”

“Oh so you’re acknowledging that you just made me word vomit a quarter of my repressed emotion from the last year or whatever? Fuck you,” Stiles huffed, pinching the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb.

“I’m sorry,” Derek said, and it was actually sincere “you know what I’m like when I get a question in my head”

“You’re no worse than me,” Stiles replied reproachfully, half-smiling again. Wow okay he really was exhausted. The caffeine high was wearing off now and his eyes were itchy and droopy and the words on his computer screen seemed to appear in double vision.

“I mean it Stiles, when you hang up, close that damn laptop and get your ass to bed”

“I guess your authority complex hasn’t changed much,” he remarked, unable to help himself, smirking at Derek’s returning growl.

“Goodnight Stiles,” he spoke a second later and Stiles dropped his head back on his neck, stretching out his long lanky legs and swallowing to wet his throat as it was all dry and scratchy.

“G’night loser,” he yawned loudly, poking his tongue out at Zeek, whose head snapped up from her book near the counter to glare at him again. The line cut out and then he just sort of felt like a puppet who’s strings had been cut, all floppy and unsure how to properly move his limbs. He drew in a deep breath, his lungs hurting a little as he clicked his neck back and forth, rolling his achy, tight shoulders a couple of times. He saved his work once more, shutting his computer down and packing it away in his bag. It took him a while to gather the motivation to actually stand up but once he was on his feet, he threw the remainder of his coffee in the bin and left, blowing a mock kiss at Zeek as he went.

By the time he’d walked through the halls of residence and collapsed on the bed in his dorm, it was 1:00 and even though he just wanted to sleep, his stomach was growling at him, so he sent Cassie a text asking her to bring over a big mac for him on her way home from the club, and let his eyes flicker closed.

He dosed until about 3:00AM when Cassie unlocked his dorm – he had no idea how she’d managed to copy a fucking key – and gently woke him, her fingers cupping his face and stroking his collar bone until he blinked himself awake and slowly shuffled into a sitting position against his head board. Cassie settled in beside him, wordlessly handed him his food, and they ate in silence. When they were both done, she put their rubbish in the bin, drew in a sigh, and tucked herself into bed behind him, wrapping her arm around his waist and snuggling her nose into his neck.

And then they slept for about sixteen hours.

* * *

 

He was awoken abruptly when something warm and curvy jolted and jerked back behind him. He squinted, flipping over as he tried to make sense of where he was and why he was so rudely having to move from a perfectly comfortable position. It was only when he met Cassie’s wide, tearful eyes that he frowned, blinking himself awake properly and registering the lick of sweat on her skin and her heavy breathing and how incredibly terrified she looked. He slowly reached out his hands moving so that he was half sitting up, taking her face in his hands and moving the quivering, crazy blonde tendrils from her face.

“Hey,” he breathed “it’s me, Stiles. It’s your Stiles, Cass. C’mon, wake up,” he spoke directly, softly, watching her eyes as they gradually recognised him. He could hear her erratic heartbeat thrumming in his ears and feel her pain, her absolutely incredible fear. It almost physically hurt him.

“S-Stiles?” she whimpered, words shaking as more tears rolled hot and fast down her face. He nodded and smiled gently, settling back down beside her and pulling her into his body, caging her against him and stroking her mass of wild curls and pressing soft, comforting kisses to her head, his other hand resting firmly on the small of her back.

“Shh,” he cooed, worried sick “you’re safe sweetie,” he whispered repetitively “you’re okay”

It took a while for her to relax out of her catatonic state and for her body to stop shaking against him, even if she was still crying, gasping every now and then for breath.

“What was it about?” he asked when he thought she would actually be able to talk and her arms wrapped around him in return, gripping him almost painfully, like he was some sort of vice. He didn’t mind though, whatever bruises she gave him would heal almost immediately and she just needed to make sure he was really there.

“I- I haven’t had that dream since I was in hospital,” she struggled, her voice croaky and quiet, muffled against his chest as she nuzzled in closer “it was recurring, always the same, this guy, l-like personified cancer chasing me and I- I keep tripping over and I sort of just-” she broke off for a second to gather herself further “I just know that if he touches me, I’m going to be riddled with this like i-immediate cancer and I just die really painfully and – and fuck why am I even dreaming about this, I haven’t h-had that nightmare in years,” she coughed, her heart jumping a little every couple of seconds. He sighed, drawing in a deep breath and pressing another rough kiss to the top of her scalp.

“Go back to sleep Cass,” he said delicately, fingers playing with her hair absent mindedly. She swallowed and nodded against him, hooking her legs around his and slipping her hands up his t-shirt to warm them. He missed cuddling his friends in bed, puppy piles were awesome and great for pack bonding. He wondered if he’d even be properly accepted into a pack puppy pile anymore, he wondered if they even recognised his scent immediately like they used to.

He knew they probably would, and no- he stopped himself, this wasn’t about him. Cassie was having nightmares about her cancer trying to get at her again and she needed him, so this was where he would be right now, making sure she was okay.

After all, it was the least he could do after she put up with so much of his shit.

* * *

 

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been sat there, it was just that he’d suddenly got this horrible foreboding, claustrophobic feeling in the pit of his stomach and he’d needed to get out of his dorm. It was then that it sort of occurred to him that he hadn’t gotten a decent shift in for ages, so he’d gotten a cab to the nearest forest and let his wolf take over for a couple of hours. It had taken a while to really calm himself down enough to bring his fangs and claws back in and click his bones back down to their proper size, but once he had, he felt this soft peace flutter through him and take route in his muscles.

He hadn’t felt this content in a long time, his wolf was practically purring and he couldn’t help the soft smile gracing his lips as he looked out at the half moon. This was one of the only things that felt right anymore, the moonlight on his face, the wind breezing across his sweat glazed skin, the trees whispering and the birds singing, his ears sensitive to every sound that nature sang. Apart from the uncontrollable anger and the monthly moon hangover and the issues with the scenting and constantly worrying if Cassie would find out, it was pretty damn cool to be a werewolf in the 21st century, Stiles had decided.

Correct that, a werewolf mage, two things he was pretty sure had been ruthlessly hunted and burned in history. And he was both of them at the same time, one of the most powerful creatures on the planet; and yet he was a 21 year old university student that still masturbated five times a day, watched repetitive episodes of Spongebob on Netflix, and cried like a baby when Alaric Saltzman died on The Vampire Diaries. He juggled a hella lot for someone his age with his level of responsibility, and he was truly proud of himself, at times, that he had even made it this far in his life.

That was before he remembered that he had left his pack and moved away and avoided even talking to any of them half the time and couldn’t even get through one of their weddings without having a mental breakdown about being in the same room as any of them for more than ten minutes. It wasn’t that he couldn’t stand them, no way, he loved them more than he loved anyone else on the earth; it was just that sometimes they represented so much pain and fear and anxiety for him, that occasionally he forgot they were a big bunch of puppies that he had practically adopted when he was nineteen.

After another hour of lying there with the moon on his face, he dragged himself back to his feet and walked back through the forest, sending Cass a text back to let her know he was perfectly fine and that he had just gone out for some space.

Man, he needed to go running like that more often, he felt so calm and collected. It was such a foreign state of mind to him that he almost considered the possibility that he had been possessed. Walking back through campus brought him back down to earth a little when he had to discreetly levitate a drunk girl sleeping outside the pub near a pool of her own vomit. He took his jacket off and took his ID out of it, placing the coat over as much of her body as it would cover. Crouching for a second, he stroked some knotted hair out of her face. Pressing two fingers softly to her temple, he closed his eyes and focused, letting his power flow on its usual elemental line, drawing some of her disorientation out so she wouldn’t feel so horrible when she woke up. Then he stood back up to full height, alerted the nearest person to her presence, made sure she was being looked after, and carried on walking back to his dorm.

Lying in bed at four in the morning then, he decided that he was going to sort this Derek thing out once and for all.

* * *

 

“Have you heard the news?” Erica practically squealed as she bounded into the house and into the kitchen where Derek was still half awake from another night of tossing and turning in his bed. He grunted and stumbled to sit on one of the stools surrounding the marble counter, drinking his coffee deeply and waiting for Erica to inevitably squawk for an hour about whatever it was she was so excited about.

“Are you leaving today? Cause I don’t want to be a part of it,” he remarked. She groaned at him and shook her head.

“No doofus, that’s the worst joke I’ve ever heard. Actually,” she took in a deep breath, her grin returning “Stiles’ book has been sent out to stores all over America, his publishing company invested another load of money in him and he wants to come home when he finishes his uni course next year,” she was pounced on the cabinet, crouched in front of him as he snapped his head up so fast to look at her that it clicked loudly and she visibly winced before her expression morphed back into that of a five year old who had just been given 3 million dollars’ worth of toys without a catch.

“What?” he demanded. She grinned widely dropping in one swift movement so that her legs were crossed underneath her “Erica I swear to fucking god if you’re messing with me I’ll never talk to you again”

She looked affronted and glared at him, her eyes flashing yellow for a moment “no way, who the hell do you think I am? I’m not that cruel! He’s moving back to Beacon Hills next July and he’s coming back for the summer next month, says he wants to ‘check out the apartments’ but we all know he really means he wants to leave on good terms with you for the first time in two and a half years,” she explained a little further.

Derek didn’t know what he was feeling, but he was pretty sure it was something close to pure and complete and utter joy. The force of it terrified him, made him want to be sick; but it was really kind of awesome at the same time and jesus fucking christ, were they really getting Stiles back? How – how did that sort of good thing happen to him? He wasn’t normally allowed nice things.

He half listened to Erica talk for the next couple of hours before she went to work and told him to drop off Boyd’s sandwich for him later at the school where the guy worked alongside Isaac as an English teacher. It was only when she left and he had safely closed the door behind him that he finally allowed the small smile to creep along his lips and he furiously blinked himself properly awake. He gave himself a few minutes to really take in what this new information meant, but he was disrupted by his phone ringing loudly from the kitchen. He frowned, still hobbling sleep drunk in his sweatpants towards it, squinting at the bright screen and giving up trying to read the name, simply answering, flopping back into his seat and dropping his head down. He really was so fucking exhausted.

“Greetings Miguel,” a voice on the other side of the phone chirped and he drew in a deep sigh of strange relief. He swallowed to get rid of the embarrassing lump in his throat and cleared it.

“No” he huffed “its-”

“Too early. You hate mornings, they’re unnecessary, the same as talking, socialising and Christmas, right?”

He growled in response, receiving an answering chuckle that was so relaxed and full of fondness, he had to lift his head again and really try to compute what was going on. Stiles didn’t sound half dead or tired or ill or like he was lying about how he was doing, which was what he normally sounded like. He sounded… light, like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders and Derek could practically see him sat on his dorm bed bouncing up and down with barely contained excitement.

“Stiles what’s going on?”

“I’m coming home,” he replied. Derek blinked a few times again, realising that it was true, Erica had really been telling the truth.

“What? Why? How? When? And again, what?”

“My book is being thrown out to stores nationally, come next year I’ll be able to afford an apartment in town. I’ll have to travel a lot for signings and promotion, but yeah,” Stiles said awkwardly, still obviously bursting with this ridiculously contagious happiness that gave Derek half a mind to drive all the way down to the campus right then and there. He wasn’t sure what he would actually do or say if he acted on the impulse of course, but yeah, it was there.

“Erica said you’re coming home for the summer too,” he spoke, meaning his voice to sound solid and indifferent to keep some dignity over how stupidly and helplessly over the moon he was, but instead he just sounded small and a little nervous. Stiles would probably grin at him and pinch his cheeks if he were there, teasing him for ‘actually having a soul’ under his layers of defence mechanisms.

“Yeah actually,” Stiles confirmed hesitantly “I was wondering if I could stay with you. I’ll give you some rent for the six weeks man, I just don’t want to have to pay hotel rates and I miss my old bed at your house and- yeah I’ll stop talking now. Basically I’m going to drag my ass home and beg for forgiveness and-“

“Stoppit,” Derek said suddenly “will you just fucking stop blaming yourself? All you did was look after yourself, do something that you wanted to do with your own life after your father was murdered, and I selfishly asked you not to and it wasn’t fair and before you make a cheeky remark about me admitting that I was wrong, I am an actual adult you know, I am occasionally capable of doing the adult thing” he broke off for a moment to take a breath, unsure as to why he was shaking a little before carrying on “and yes, you can stay, just… for fuck sake, no ironic t-shirts-”

“But Derek-”

“No Stiles,” he exclaimed.

“I hate you”

“No you don’t”

“No I don’t”

“Go away, you’re an idiot and I just woke up”

“Awh am I irritating you?”

“You’re always irritating me”

“You’re mean”

“ _Stiles_ ”

“Fine! Wow I forgot that you’re a brat in the mornings. I’ll call you when I have an update, okay? Bye, loser,” he hung up with a final chirpy insult and the receiver clicked off. Derek sighed and basically deflated in a flop of limbs, too tired to even really bother properly thinking about what had gone down in the space of an hour on his Saturday off.

* * *

 

Stiles was absolutely exhausted. Going on holiday on the first week of the summer break with Cass just before he was due to return to Beacon Hills probably hadn’t been the best idea he’d ever had, but whatever, he wasn’t exactly prone to sensibility or anything.

It had been good at the very least, he was partially tanned – well, about as tanned as it got for him considering his normally weirdly pale complexion – and he had gotten a new tattoo which he couldn’t wait to show the pack. Mainly because he wanted to see Derek’s face and tease him about it for as long as he could, but also because it was kinda freaking awesome and symbolic. As much as he was looking forward to showing them his tattoo however, he was well aware that simply coming back wouldn’t be enough to undo two years of very little communication and neglect and that although they all tried to make it easier on him, a couple of them were still angry with him for leaving. Apologising was the very basis of what he was going to have to do to make it up to them, no matter how much Derek kept telling him to stop being so hard on himself.

He grumbled as he stumbled out of the taxi, saying sorry to the driver for nearly breaking the door without realising. Sometimes he forgot his own clumsiness and strength – poor co-ordination mixed with a complete lack of special awareness was always getting Stiles into trouble with people anyway, he had no idea how he was going to survive the following year of press meetings and book signings. Probably with two babysitters following him around the US disguised as body guards.

He hauled his suitcase out of the boot and huffed grumpily, slamming the boot as hard as he could without looking like he was deliberately trying to destroy the car, and chucked some money through the front window of it. The guy drove off without beeping or waving goodbye and he didn’t blame him, Stiles was in a foul mood and probably needed to sleep for two days whilst eating as much of Derek’s food as he could without actually having to have a proper talk with him. He wondered how long he could rely on sarcasm and chirpy wit before he was slammed against a solid surface and forced to have an adult conversation with his ex-boyfriend. At least twenty four hours he hoped.

Also, he really missed his friends and all, but he hoped to fucking jesus that they weren’t waiting over at Derek’s house to jump on him and make him socialise. It was eleven o’clock at night after all and he didn’t want to have to feel the weird awkward-but-not-awkward tension in the room before he really had to.

Thankfully, town was practically empty as he walked through it, save for the usual drunks outside some of the bars and clubs and the shop owners closing up after last takings. He popped into the station on his path, out of courtesy, giving everyone a hug and engaging in a few lines of small talk, realising that despite the twinge of pain he felt when he glanced sideways over at his dad’s old desk, he had missed these people too, the ones that had watched over him and kept an eye out when his parents couldn’t. Maybe this whole thing wouldn’t be so bad.

It didn’t take him long to get to the house after that, he was even more tired now and he remembered how ridiculously soft the mattresses in Derek’s bedrooms were, that was the thing drawing him on now – well, okay, maybe not but whatever, Derek was still one of his best friends and he hadn’t seen him since Erica and Boyd’s wedding.

Plus he was uber hungry.

When he got to the woods, he let out another huff and easily lifted the suitcase on his shoulder, running the rest of the way, ignoring the road path and wanting to get a mini shift in before he had to deal with the onslaught of emotional shit he’d have to sort through in the next couple of weeks.

He made it to Derek’s land in about fifteen minutes and he retracted his fangs as he got closer to his destination, dropping the suitcase on its wheels again and flicking his fingers so his claws shrunk back into normal sized human nails. It took him another three minutes to actually come to the end of the footpath that normal people used, and half-sprinted the rest of the way, jumping the porch steps and realising with a shaky breath that he was literally walking straight into everything he’d been running from for two years. He didn’t have time to change his mind though, because he could hear Derek coming up from the basement – god knows what he was doing in there, it was pretty much a weird torture dungeon except that it was metal dog collars attached to the walls instead of whips. Stiles swallowed deeply, blinked a couple of times, wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans, and opened the door like he had never left, smirking as convincingly as he could, and calling out to no one in particular.

“Honey, I’m home”

* * *

 

He seriously couldn’t believe that Isaac had kept his Jeep for him, he knew there was a reason he was best friends with that dude, and this was definitely at least one of them. He smiled a little and placed a loving hand on the boot of the old car, the other hand keeping the petrol pump in place as he leaned back against the dials.

He yawned widely and contemplated his existence over the past twenty four hours.

Seeing Derek again was actually easier than he’d thought it would be – they talked for about two hours whilst Stiles filled up his stomach with the contents of the fridge. Derek being the clever, clever guy that he is, made an excuse to do something in the living room whilst Stiles went up to one of the bedrooms and got himself settled. That way there weren’t any awkward moments when they would have had to part at the top of the stairs and go their separate ways, and jesus fucking christ Stiles had forgotten the true depth of how incredibly comfortable the mattresses were at the Hale house.

As usual however, trouble always came when he was minding his own business. In this case, it was a commotion he could hear with some shady looking assholes on the other side of the petrol station and a kid a couple of years younger than him. The kid looked petrified, and rightly so; the dudes bothering him were beefcakes, real roadrunner types. He sighed, pulling the pump out of his jeep and settling it back in its proper place, feeling the familiar foreboding in his stomach that accompanied the usual scene in which he made the ridiculously stupid decision to put himself in harm’s way to protect someone.

“Alright guys,” he said as calmly as he could, walking over to them with his hands in the pockets of his jeans “break it up, leave him be”

Immediately the biggest one turned around eyebrows raised, eyes narrowed, rough lips curved into a sadistic smile, a distinctive feeling of threat radiating from him. Stiles felt the small tingling in the tips of his fingers as his wolf woke inside him, softly growling inwardly and silently at the possibility of potential peril. He drew in a deep breath, straightened his back and smiled in return.

“Don’t get involved boy, skin and bone aint gonna be helpful in this situation,” the guy to the left warned. Stiles tilted his head slightly, shifting his line of vision to the person addressing him, frowning a little.

“I don’t need help. But apparently this kid does. C’mon guys,” he kept his tone as calm and collected as possible “we don’t want a scene. Dude, come with me, I’ll give you a lift home-” he cut himself off as someone grabbed his forearm when he held his hand out for the kid to take. His vision snapped to the giant one with the grey eyes and the smile immediately faded from Stiles’ lips, jaw pulsing with a repressed shot of rage shooting through him. Nobody touched Stiles unless they had permission, it was one of his biggest rules.

“Take your hand off me right now,” he spoke, not breaking eye contact, speaking through his teeth. The guy laughed, which of course only made Stiles even angrier, considering he had been laughed at so much in his life – he didn’t take kindly to bullies and it was only another source of confusion for him because Derek had been somewhat of a bully back when they had first met.

“Why, watcha gonna do about it? You can’t seriously think you can fight us. You’re a puny little fucker arentcha? Look at you,” the guy grinned, half spitting out his words as he poked Stiles in the ribs.

“I’ll rip your fucking heart out of your chest cavity, asshole”

Stiles had no idea where that voice came from, it couldn’t have been him because it was really sharp and angry and badass and he was rarely – okay so maybe it might have been him, he did get quite angry quite frequently of late; but not viciously, more of an upset, despaired kind of angry. This was different, it was territorial and pissy and he was not dealing with this guy’s shit any longer if this was the way he was going to be talked to.

The laughing came again, but Stiles didn’t allow it to finish, in a second he had the big guy pinned hard against the nearest pillar, jaw locked, breath laboured, eyes searing – Stiles hoped to shit they didn’t flash red because he didn’t want to be busted, even though Derek was an alpha whore and was always flashing his teeth at people being pricks to him.

The guy tried to struggle against him and the one person that moved forward to help their designated leader stimulated Stiles to kick his foot out backward and land it in the asshole’s crotch. None of the other opposition moved to free their friend and Stiles twitched his eyes, returning his full attention to the person he was currently keeping restrained by the collar, glaring.

“I said,” Stiles spoke in harsh syllables, being as clear as he possibly could “leave. him. be,” he spat “picking on little guys doesn’t make you big, it makes you a coward, and a shit human being. What’s wrong with being nice to people, huh? You’re lucky,” Stiles told him “I’m in a good mood today and I’m feeling forgiving. But I’m moving back into town and – well, just because Sheriff Stilinski isn’t around anymore doesn’t mean dickwads like yourself can just go around getting away with pulling shit like this okay? Its totally not cool”

“Stilinski’s dead,” the big guy shot in Stiles’ face, earning himself an extra hard slam against the concrete stone.

“I know that you absolute prick,” he yelled, losing his temper “I’m his son,” and with that, he released the guy, grabbed the kid’s hand, and dragged him out of the situation, struggling to keep himself under control, panting. No one had been that much of an asshole about his dad in a long time – whether those losers knew Stiles was the dead Sheriff’s son or not – he wasn’t accustomed to it and he was already a little exhausted from all the emotionally confronting things going on with the pack and Derek right now, he didn’t need to be triggered by an uninformed assjockey throwing the subject of his dad’s death around in a crappy gas station.

He blocked out the sounds of their arguing as he walked away, and threw the door of his jeep open, snapping at the bemused kid to just get the fuck inside for a moment whilst he paid for his tank full of gas. He was in and out of the shop in two minutes and when he got back in the car, all he did was ask the kid where it was he needed dropping off before starting the jeep and pulling out of the driveway, resisting the urge to shift and rip those guys apart on his way out.

They got halfway down the backroad into town before the kid said anything.

“Thanks for that,” he mumbled, chin pressed to his collar bones, eyes pointed at his jean clad lap where his hands were fiddling absently with each other “for the whole sticking up for me thing,” he said quietly and awkwardly “it was really awesome”

Stiles drew in a deep breath, sat back against his seat, loosened his hands on the wheel and tried to let as much of his anger float away as he could. He really needed to get that sorted out, it was becoming a liability.

“No problemo kid,” he replied in a much more springy and nonchalant voice than before “I know what is like to be picked on. You shouldn’t let them treat you like that man, it’s all about the body language – straight back, wide shoulders, chin up. It won’t do much but it’ll help get the bright red bulls eye target off your back,” it was true, Stiles knew what it was like to be a bit too thin and a bit too lanky when all the other guys in school were big and toned and athletic. It changed when he turned fifteen and joined the La Crosse team of course, but that was mainly because he spent so much time running from terrifying crazy people after his best friend was bitten by the psychotic previously alpha werewolf uncle of his ex-boyfriend. Oh boy, he really wasn’t good at the ‘it gets better’ pep talks.

“I know,” the kid sighed, voice a little crackly “I just – it’s a defence mechanism. I try not to but-”

“I know,” he sighed “scary shit, 500lb redneck on your ass, what did you do to piss them off?”

“I’m not sure. I think they’re homophobic. I’m quite lucky really, that stuff doesn’t normally exist in this town, but lately it’s just those guys that have a problem with me. My boyfriend wants me to report them, but they haven’t assaulted me or anything so I don’t really have much of a case against them,” the kid paused a little and Stiles could feel his eyes on him as they pulled back into the main part of town “were you ever… you know, bullied for… well,” the kid gestured at him and Stiles shot him a grin.

“Impressive radar young one, the homo is strong in you,” he remarked, smiling a little wider when the kid let out a small breathy laugh. He swallowed however, wetting his lips and shrugging “not really. I mean, I left town when I was eighteen going on nineteen and its different in university, this is just one town and people aren’t particularly discriminative. I was on the La Crosse team and one of the coolest guys in our school was a flaming homosexual. I don’t even know why it took me so long to come out to be honest, I think I was procrastinating,” he wondered aloud. The kid raised his eyebrows and laughed again, and for a second, Stiles had to gulp down a hella lot of feels because he glanced sideways yet again and for a moment, all he saw was himself. Who he used to be anyway, a confused kid – a confused, nervous skinny little kid with a laugh that was probably a little too carefree and loud to be considered real.

“You procrastinated your sexuality?”

“I have a habit okay, it’s not my fault, and it took me longer to find the bisexual label,” Stiles pouted, pulling into the place the kid had described as the place he lived. It was a large block of brownstone apartments that looked somewhere between rough and reasonable “what’s your name anyway?” Stiles asked as he stopped the engine and remembered that he couldn’t just click his fingers to make the door open – it jammed sometimes and got a bit near impossible to shove open manually.

“Rory,” he grinned with bright eyes. Stiles nodded with another smile, clapping him on the back of the head.

“Cool Rory,” he said “but you’ve caused enough trouble this morning, get out of my jeep and don’t make me have to save your ass again,” he gestured, leaning over Rory’s lap and finding the weak spot in the door, twisting his hand around the loose handle and huffing it open with ease. The kid wouldn’t have been able to do it though, the only way Stiles could even attempt it was because of his superhuman strength.

Rory saluted and jumped out as commanded, flinging his bag over his shoulder and thanking Stiles one last time before sprinting up the steps and disappearing into the building. Stiles sat for a moment against the old seats of his jeep, taking in the smell of it and having to swallow another sting in his gut at the small, still lingering hint of his father’s scent clinging softly to the interior. One day that wouldn’t hurt quite so much. At least he freaking hoped so; he deserved nice things.

After a couple of minutes, he blinked away tears he didn’t really know were there and sniffed, snapping himself out of it and yanking the engine into gear again, rumbling back off in the direction he came from, deciding that maybe he could just drive around the reserve a little and think some more before he got back to settling into his old home again.

 

“Oh my god, you’re Stiles Stilinski, right?” he startled slightly when a voice came from behind him when he was buying coffee on a Sunday morning. He didn’t like how fucking early he was awake and he’d been in mid yawn when he had been interrupted, his sleepy train of thought scattering and decaying as he turned properly to face the source of the sound.

He raised his eyebrows when he settled his vision on a girl he’d never met before. She looked about sixteen, big brown hair, cute green eyes and thin lips with some kickass cheekbones to go with it. He shrugged.

“Yeah, why?” he frowned a little, not snappy, just confused and a little unsettled that he didn’t have a clue who this girl was.

“Wow,” she grinned, shaking her head and squeezing her eyes shut for a second before opening them again and pointing down at her t-shirt. He couldn’t really comprehend what he was seeing to begin with because he didn’t really expect it, but when he read what was on her t-shirt, it kind of made sense to him. Pale blue bubble writing was printed on it and it read ‘everyone’s a puppy once you’ve crawled under their skin and kissed their lips’.

It was a quote from chapter seven of his newly published novel, he recognised it almost immediately and without warning, a grin split out across his face. Tom – his publicist – had emailed him that morning to check his bank account and when he had, he’d almost had a heart attack. He was barely able to process that people were actually reading his book and buying it, let alone that girls were stopping him and showing him their t-shirts with his writing on them.

“That is fucking awesome,” he remarked, taking a piece of the t-shirt and bringing it up slightly to get a better look at it “these designs only went out last week, this is crazy- oh thanks lou,” he nodded at the barista handing him his packed coffee for take out over the counter. He took it, having already paid, and pulled the girl aside. She looked a bit nervous but she took out a marker and rummaged in her cute little indie side bag, pulling out a copy of – holy shit that was actually his book. His book was in someone else’s bag and they had read it and enjoyed it and brought the t-shirt with a quote on it and he was being recognised and he wasn’t quite sure how he was supposed to deal with this. Not until the girl opened it up to the first page and handed him the pen.

“Could you sign it please? I mean, it’s okay if you don’t want to, I don’t want to bother you but I love this damn book so much and well, you wrote it so-” he took the book from her too, cutting her off mid-sentence with an affectionate wink.

“What’s your name?” he asked, supposing it was proper etiquette to ask her so he could write a little message inside for her. He’d be shooting off next week to Ohio for his first signing, but this was… wow he didn’t know what he was feeling.

“Sanja,” she smiled, looking like he had just handed her the keys to a vault of money filled with a million dollars. Her happiness filled him with this weird sense of absolute joy and he grinned at her again, nodding and scribbling out a little thank you and a ‘love, Stiles’ at the end of it along with his autograph. She was putting it back in her bag when he got a bit shifty and awkward and it was only when she looked up at him again that he managed to talk properly.

“Can- I don’t know if this is creepy but you’re the first person who’s ever asked me to sign this book and its kind of fucking amazing that anyone is even asking me that but – can I hug you?” he asked, getting that feeling in his chest again when her eyes lit up and her lips cracked the widest smile he’d seen on her yet. She nodded and he immediately held out his arms, bringing her in close and giving her a good warm squeeze. When he pulled away, he was actually a little tearful because he had worked so incredibly fucking hard to get to this point in his life and this was kind of a big deal for him. She looked so delighted, he couldn’t help tucking a piece of hair behind her ear and thanking her sincerely.

“I’m not even kidding this is the first time this has happened to me, it’s completely bizarre, but seriously,” he said, grasping one of her hands “thank you,” he nudged her cheek, still not quite believing how squealy and adorable she looked that he was talking to her “and I’m so glad that you enjoyed the book, I didn’t think anyone would for a little while”

“I don’t see why you would think that people wouldn’t like it though,” she insisted “it’s a lovely book, kind of john green-esque with a much clearer cheekiness to it, you can tell it was written by someone as young as you. It made me feel so happy and I know my friends are already talking about it online. Did any of those things actually happen to you?” she asked. He was still a bit tired, he hadn’t slept very well the previous night and his legs were aching, so he sat her down. They talked for a little while longer about the book and the characters and he heard about what she liked and disliked about it and how she thought there was room for a sequel and maybe even an extension to a trilogy. An hour had gone by before he remembered what it was he was supposed to be doing in town anyway, and had to stop her, informing her that he really didn’t want to, but he had a meeting with the boss of the shop they were in to discuss getting his old job back for when he moved there permanently the following year.

He kissed her on the cheek, bought her another coffee for her to take away with her, and let her go, flopping back into his chair as she left, still shocked and a bit deflated. Lou brought him another coffee over and he told his old colleague about what had just happened and where he was going for the promotional side of things and then Jim turned up behind the counter and greeted him and he had to go in for the meeting.

After negotiating a rough estimate of next year’s hours and how he could fit into the rota again, Stiles had ordered yet another hot drink and gone for a long walk through town, revisiting all his old points of interest, and the ones that had slipped his mind, familiarising himself with the place again, trying to take it all back into his being, his heart, without it hurting so much.

“I thought _I_ was supposed to be the brooding one,” Derek remarked as he sat himself down beside Stiles on the sidewalk. He let out a small amused huff and ducked his head down on his neck, shaking it.

“I thought it was going to be easier,” Stiles sighed “coming back to it all I mean. I love everyone, I love this town, I love the woods and the houses and the cute little shops and the school – I even love the school still. But I just thought it would be less….”

“Loud,” Derek finished for him “only way to describe it, right?” he smirked smally, nudging Stiles’ shoulder. He huffed, remembering the day Derek had said the same thing to him. He didn’t mean loud in the literal sense, well not really anyway. It was just that everything was all kind of hitting him at once in this town now and it was taking him a while to adjust properly. Things were strange and he didn’t know how he was supposed to be feeling about it all, about being back again, about the claps on the back and the small talk from the residents and community, about the slightly pitying looks he kept getting from people even though they tried to hide it.

Loud was the only way to describe it. Loud, scary, and awesome. All three things he had always associated with Beacon Hills in the first place. It held a lot of bad memories for him, but this was where the people he loved were, and he knew as well as anyone, one of the only ways he’d ever been able to get rid of old negativity, was to replace it with new positivity. It would take a while though. He needed time, Derek, and some Doritos.

* * *

 

“Can I hug you?” Stiles asked with a smile. Derek dropped his shoulders, let out a frustrated sigh, and held out his arms. Stiles grinned wide, jumped off his seat and threw his own arms around Derek’s neck, burying his face in his shoulder and nuzzling his cheek against Derek’s. He drew in a deep breath, inhaling everything he could, trying to memorise the sound of his heartbeat and the feel of sheer warmth against his body, flooding through him and enveloping him in this tight little bubble of security. He had missed this so fucking much, being able to be this close to his best friend, the sensation of his stubble against his neck and the heat of his breath against his collar bone.

God Stiles was really glad he was coming home the following July, he was pretty sure he’d picked out an apartment and he had paid the estate agency an advance so they kept it vacant for him. He’d be coming back and forth in the upcoming sixth months whenever he could to slowly move his stuff in and to decorate. With his bank account balance elevating at a steady rate, he was doing extremely okay for himself and even though he didn’t want to be _that_ guy, he’d looked up his online following and things looked very promising for the next few years.

He breathed in again, knowing that he had a cab outside waiting to take him back up to the university and that he was going to have to let go eventually. He just didn’t want to feel the inevitable loss of contact and immediate cold he always felt wash over him the moment he wasn’t in the guys arms anymore. Wow, this was terrible, Stiles had to watch himself so he didn’t go soft. He pulled back a little, arms still loose around Derek’s neck as he pressed their foreheads together, eyes still closed, breaths mingling between them. Derek’s arms were still around his waist and he really, really didn’t want to break that connection because he wouldn’t be able to feel it a whole lot over the next few months, since he had to get started on his dissertation and he had a shit load of other bullcrap to think about.

“I’m gonna be back next month for the weekend and I need someone to paint the bathroom of the apartment with me. I’ve elected you, you’re not getting out of it, I’ve decided,” Stiles insisted, eyes still freaking closed. He was stuck between wanting to look at Derek’s face as much as he could before he had to turn away from him again, and trying to preserve the physical feeling of it all without the visual making their parting real.

“M’okay with that,” Derek mumbled and Stiles actually had to swallow the bitching lump in his throat because of the little crack in the slurred words and the way they sounded like he was sort of drunk on the proximity and fuck Stiles really needed to stop being such a fucking sop.

“Sorted then, you’re my painting buddy,” he sighed, wondering who was going to inevitably lean in first. It was Derek of course, and he sort of half choked when his lips were trapped and big warm hands were holding his head in place and jesus christ he didn’t even know how he had gone so long without this, it was too fucking good, too heady and right. And he had to be the one to stop it, as always, and he gulped as hard as he could, sniffing as a couple of tears leaked from behind his closed eyelids. He grabbed Derek’s face back for a second, pressed another kiss to his forehead, the tip of his nose, and his lips, and then pulled himself away using a strength inside him that had nothing to do with being a werewolf, grabbing his suitcase and leaving. He couldn’t fucking look back, he was too weak for it and it always hurt like a bitch.

So he got straight into the car, told the driver where he needed to go, and curled up like a freaking teenager in the back seat as it drove off back through the forest path and out into the main streets of Beacon Hills. He refused to let himself breathe properly or open his eyes until they were out of town and back on the motorway, and only an hour in did he feel loose enough to prise his hands apart from where they were clutching his knees up to his chest, sit up properly, and shakily bring up the texting option on his mobile.

‘I’m so sorry’ he managed to type. He had to take a moment to pull in a quivering bout of oxygen before he carried on ‘I’ll call you tonight when I’m settled back in’ he carried on ‘I love you’ he finished. He must have erased and retyped that final part ten times before he decided to just leave it in and press the send button, because he was feeling really emotionally drained and his wolf was whimpering in his chest and for fuck sake it was Derek and if he wanted to tell him that he loved him, he freaking would. Full fucking stop.

* * *

 

Stiles had never actually had to pull his alpha eyes on any of the pack, let alone make any of them submit, it was just something he had never had to do. Considering he still had quite a lot of trouble keeping his own wolf under control on the full moon, it would be kind of hypocritical of him. But Isaac was having an off week – the anniversary of his father’s death – and it was normally about this time that he freaked out on the full moon despite his usual demonstration of calm and charisma. Stiles was back at uni for his final months, but he’d called Derek remembering what time of year it was for Isaac, and they had both voiced their concerns about what the upcoming full moon would be like for him, and Stiles had agreed to come home for it, just so he could be there.

He remembered the first time he’d watched Derek make Isaac submit, back at the station the months following Peter’s death and all that shit had started with Jackson and the Kanima, he remembered Derek stepping between him and Isaac and full on growling at him, baring his teeth and dilating his red pupils. Stiles remembered the way Isaac had shrunk away like a puppy dog and curled up in the corner whimpering and shaking. Stiles remembered watching Derek slowly crouching down and moving forward towards the beta and he remembered the way the guy had slowly placed a human hand on Isaac’s shoulder and slowly helped him to his feet. Stiles remembered the bizarre way in which Derek managed to calm Isaac, muttering fast, firm incoherent reassurances and instructions into his ear as he sort of hug-walked him out of the building. Stiles had stayed behind to run damage control, but he knew in that moment that things were different. He would never be able to look at Derek in the same way ever again.

And he had never been able to either. It was mesmerising, watching Derek with the betas. It was only natural that the dude knew them better than Stiles did, understood the inner workings of all of their minds and how to handle them. But Derek wouldn’t have suggested Stiles coming home if they didn’t really need him, so there was no way he was going to say no.

But yes, he had made the trip home, he had sat trying not to let the wolf take over all day on the build up to the night of the full moon, been practicing his normal routine exercises. Derek still found it hilarious that Stiles was supposed to be this all powerful creature, but he still couldn’t stop himself from wolfing out properly at his time of month. Stiles didn’t find it very funny at all, seeing as Derek was his fucking anchor and he hadn’t had more than a month of contact with him in three years – but he didn’t voice that, he doubted it would make the situation any easier, and it was his own fault.

So he sat in the basement with Isaac and Derek, all of them too deep in thought to talk much. Scott had been put in charge of keeping Erica, Boyd and Jackson in line whilst the alphas were otherwise engaged, as he was the one with the strongest anchor out of the three. They simply went running, climbing trees and eating rabbits and doing their little wolfy thing.

Stiles felt the full moon rising to its peak before Isaac even began to move. He could feel his claws itching at his skin as they elongated and his vision sharpened. He drew in a deep breath through his fangs and urged himself to keep a hold of that magic source within him, use it to keep him grounded. Derek was in the room of course, so it was a lot easier than normal. Then Isaac’s breaths got deeper and more gravelly until he started growling and gnashing and slashing. They had to fight him for a while, seeing as Derek was so averse to using the chains these days, and Stiles couldn’t help swearing harshly as Isaac’s claws cut sharply across his abdomen, ripping a gash in the skin. He’d had enough then, and grabbed Isaac’s arm mid slash, getting his eye contact, finally. Stiles tightened his jaw, locked his throat and let out the most guttural growl he had ever heard, a warning. Isaac’s arm immediately went limp and he shrunk away from them, curling in on himself and murmuring quietly, shaking and twitching. Stiles pulled his anger back, feeling the cut on his diaphragm healing as he swallowed, mirroring Derek as they both lowered to his level. Stiles gently took Isaac in his arms as they all sort of collapsed against the wall, sliding down it.

Derek sat there, one hand on Isaac’s knee as Stiles repetitively whispered in Isaac’s ear, arms wrapped tightly around him, reminding him that his father was long gone, he couldn’t hurt him anymore, that no one could hurt him, not as long and he and Derek were around.


	9. Big dumb asshole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one is relatively emotionally light in comparison to what I've already written of chapter 10, so enjoy the calm before the storm. I suppose I'm not particularly proud of this one, but it'll have to do.

"So, in this book, the narrator has a very specific and personal group of friends. Was that taken from an aspect of your own life, or is it just fiction?" the interviewer asked him, that curious little fake smirk on her face.

Stiles adored writing, and he loved that fact that people were enjoying his work, but he despised the press. It wasn't that he minded signing autographs and posing for pictures with the small collection of fans that he had, it was the stuff away from his following that wound him up. But his publishing company were working tight knit with his publicist and they had both yelled at him time and time again, insisting that if he wanted to make a living off of this, he had to do the promotional tours and the interviews.

He swallowed tightly, sat up straighter, and plastered on his own fake smile despite his irritation.

"I guess you could put it like that," he replied as loosely as he could "I mean, I have a sort of close circle of buddies that are more like my family, but other than that the rest of the book is pretty much completely made up – jesus man, could you imagine all that scary shit actually happening to me in real life?" he laughed, irony internally flashing a shit eating grin at him "I'd go batcrap crazy"

The interviewer, Beth Torrez, laughed along with him, scooching discreetly closer in her chair, leaning forward a little, hand ridiculously close up her own thigh in a way that he supposed was supposed to be flirtatious. It was strange, no matter how much he insisted that he wasn't straight, females in the business really didn't seem to take a fucking hint. Maybe if things went well with Derek when he finished his press tour, he could release a statement saying that he was in a relationship, so that women – and guys in some cases – would just stop trying to get into his pants. He didn't know why it bothered him so much, it was cool that people seemed to be attracted to him now, and a couple of years back he would have been snatching up opportunities to fuck around in a heartbeat. He guessed it had something to do with how completely exhausted he was.

It was a pattern, he was the 'overnight young author sensation' and the approximation of 70,000 people who were following his work wanted to ask him about the book, the characters, what was his childhood like, what's his biggest pet peeve. Things he wasn't particularly good at answering when he was half cut on energy drinks and weighed down by jet lag. It was amazing, and he was grateful for the slow building fanbase and how lovely they were being. Feeling like he was really making something out of his life was a big deal for him – it was just that the attention was starting to come from a fuck load of different directions and he was finding it difficult to keep his attention where it needed to be. Half the time he just wanted to be at home learning how to live in Beacon Hills again.

Back in Beacon Hills with his ridiculously beautiful apartment that he could afford and was still getting used to considering he had around $90,000 in his bank account at any one time. He tended to think too much about the money he was spending though, he still thought about things like that as though he was living at home off of his barista wage. Hell, sometimes he even forgot that his dad didn't support him financially anymore, that he couldn't just go back to the old house and find his father passed out on the sofa after working overtime at the station again. He did, however, still have part of his inheritance, although it only added up to about $10,000 – he had spent most of the assets on uni funding and maintenance.

But he was getting the hang of the small amount of fame he was collecting, and some questions, he had learned, had some pretty default answers and nobody really cared much if it was always the same, as long as he added another new little detail in here and there. A lot of time, he could smile and laugh and flirt in his weird geeky awkward way, and that was all these people needed to give a good report on him.

Like now for instance, he wasn't even sure what he was talking about, but Torrez seemed to be following at least vaguely and she asked him questions to extend his answers every now and again, so he wasn't doing too bad. The conversation was coming to a close and he could feel his eyes getting itchy again and he had to resist the urge to let out a deep sigh and snap out a pissy retort as Torrez put a manicured hand on his knee and said goodbye. The camera guy turned away, Torrez dropped her wide white smile immediately, and gestured for someone to get her a drink. She was gone from the set almost as quickly as he was when Sophie, his publicist, took his hand and pulled him away.

"You okay? You're looking pale," Sophie said as a couple of beefy looking guys followed them down a narrow corridor. A random hand offered his leather jacket to him, and he took it, wincing a little as he shrugged it around himself and clicked his neck. He didn't need protection from anything, he could probably massacre the entire building in ten minutes if he really wanted to – but he wasn't that person, he didn't have it in him, and the whole werewolf/mage thing had to stay quiet if he wanted to keep both himself and his pack safe, so he didn't mind that he occasionally had bodyguards, he normally actually brought the guys a drink and some food for their trouble.

The aching in his muscles went away almost immediately and as soon as he recognised the beginnings of a migraine, it sort of just faded; supernatural healing abilities were the shit. He was still tired though, but he nodded at Sophie with a smile – a genuine one this time, letting out a relieving breath.

"No paler than normal," he grinned, huffing as the rain hit him the moment he opened the door. He pressed a rough kiss to Sophie's cheek, promising to call her the moment he landed back in California. Waving to the two dudes that had been looking after them for the last week or so, he got into the cab, instructing the driver to take him straight to Newark Liberty. This was one of the things he didn't mind so much about being mildly well-known, the moments of quiet he got in the journeys on trains and cabs and planes. He couldn't always get his buzzing brain to shut up whilst he was travelling, but most of his time on transport went into desperately catching up with sleep.

But even on the 25 minute stretch of road from the building to the airport, Stiles was having to make phonecalls to people telling them that he didn't want to be bothered for the next three months. He made a three minute call to his literary agent in which he actually ended up growling, and a ten minute call to Sophie's superior informing him that if any low rent paparazzi followed him to Beacon Hills, he would be ripping the guy's guts out and feeding them up to his dogs on a plate.

However, because it had been a pre-recorded interview, and the small company that would be publishing it were stretched on a deadline, it was now 3:00AM in New York where Stiles was, and midnight in Beacon Hills – which was probably why Derek sounded so out of it when he answered the phone and mumbled acknowledgement that Stiles was about to get on a plane home for the first time in about two months.

"Sorry I woke you, I just wanted to let you know I'll be back about 5:45 your time, okay?" Stiles said in a croaky, gentle voice.

"L'right," Derek hmmphed "see you then," he slurred in his sleepy drawl.

"Get some sleep, loser," Stiles grinned, rolling his eyes.

"Don't die on the plane," Derek managed before he hung up. Stiles chuckled, locking his phone screen and tucking it in his pocket, leaning his head back against the battered interior of the cab and resting his eyes. He was lulled by the soft, dark orange light of the street lamps, and the low bustle of night time New York, the low hum of rain splashing against the car and the slushing of the snow as they drove past it on the sidewalk lulled him to sleep.

The next thing he knew, the cabbie was nudging him awake from the front seat and he blinked, getting his bearings before handing the dude some money. He threw his bag over his shoulder from the boot and waved the car off, finding himself stood in front of a biggish building.

It was quiet, but not completely empty and he smirked a little as he walked past John Green curled up in one of the seats snoring and clutching his suitcase, puff levels high. He had a strong sudden urge to creep up behind him quoting The Colonel and yell "I'VE JUST DONE SOME CALCULATIONS AND I'VE BEEN ABLE TO DETERMINE THAT YOU'RE FULL OF SHIT!" He really had been meaning to contact the guy to tell him about the time he'd finished reading tfios at three in the morning, and had unintentionally woke Derek up throwing it out of the window in a fit of anguish. He resisted though, simply chuckling, carrying on through customs and processing and ending up near his boarding gate. He was let on almost immediately, considering there were very few people on his plane, and found a comfortable, secluded seat near the window where he'd be able to get five hours shut eye.

* * *

Stiles walked through the front door and closed it behind him, only to be confronted by a high pitched wail from the kitchen. His eyebrows hit the top of his forehead as he went to investigate and found Erica curled up at the bottom of the fridge on the floor in a baggy nightie and grey joggers, eating from a bowl of cookie dough and crying her eyes out.

"Uhh…"

"If you say a word, I will claw your eyes out," someone snapped from behind him and he whipped around to see Lydia trudging in, strawberry blonde hair the messiest he'd ever seen it, clad in Derek's old baseball shirt and pyjama shorts, glaring murderously, dark lines shadowing her eyes. She sat down next to Erica and took the bowl for herself, huffing and shoving a giant heap of the stuff in her mouth.

Allison dragged in next, eyes settling on Stiles blankly before she shrugged sluggishly and slid into one of the counter stools, dropping her head down on the marble and letting her long dark curls cascade around her to hide her face. He was pretending not to notice the distinct smell of blood over cookie dough and pheromones, and it was only when he accepted it that he caught on to why there were three extremely grumpy, profoundly uncomfortable females residing in Derek's kitchen of current. Stiles wondered what happened during this time of the month when he'd been away at uni – did Derek take the day off to care for his female betas? Stiles felt his heart swell as he imagined the alpha curled up on the sofa with Allison, Erica and Lydia snuggled up to him as they sobbed at The Notebook and Marley and Me, pretending not to be enjoying the warmth and affection of his girls.

Stiles smiled and put the groceries on the counter top, taking a few steps and crouching in front of Lydia and Erica – who was now half-asleep on Lydia's shoulder. He reached out, taking one of each of their hands in both of his, wincing a little as his veins turned black and he took some of their pain.

"Do you girls need anything? Some tea, some snacks, some tissues…" he paused awkwardly for a moment "other stuff?" he added, gesturing at their general pelvic area. Lydia hissed at him, but Erica's eyes fluttered open and she swallowed deeply, nodding. Allison whimpered and braced herself from where she sat, before she hunched over, her body tensing, arms hugging her tummy as her face screwed up in pain. Lydia took a few moments trying to lift herself off of the floor before she moved over to Allison, and wrapped her arms around her half-sobbing friend, stroking her hair as she waited for the wave of cramps to subside.

"Onion rings, whipped cream, pringles, a blue slush puppy, and some tampons," Erica slurred in a pitiful voice, leaning into his hand when he let go of her palm, pressing it affectionately against her face, thumb stroking her cheekbone. She was burning up, and he felt a stronger throb of sympathy for his pack mates. He made a mental note to call in sick for work in a minute so he could stay home and look after them. He owed them a bit of Stiles time, and right now, they looked like they were in need of some serious junk food and pain drain, both of which he was at liberty to provide.

"Sweetie," he said gently "would you like me to call Boyd as well?"

"NO!" Erica suddenly yelled as Stiles reared backwards, startled, landing hard on his ass "no! He's a big dumb meanie and he makes me all frustrated"

* * *

"They've got Jackson," Lydia half cried, going straight to him the moment he closed the door behind him upon entering the house. Her mascara was smudged around her eyes and her green irises were wide and full of terror and anger. Her hands gripped tight to the fabric of his red hoodie and his hands automatically went to cover hers, feeling a further jolt of terrifying panic in his gut when he felt how much she was shaking. He looked past her to see the rest of the pack gathered around the living room… well actually, they were sort of scattered about in various states. Scott was sat silently forward on the sofa next to Isaac, thinking face switched on. Stiles knew that look in his best friend's eyes, it was fury, but the calm kind. And when Scott was the calm kind of fury, shit was definitely going to go down.

"They've got Jackson, Stiles!" she repeated manically.

"Okay," Stiles said, grabbing her hands tighter as she shook him slightly, as he moved his own hands to her face, taking it tenderly, focusing her eyes on his "okay," he spoke solidly "we're gonna get him back- hey," he half-snapped, getting her full attention "we will get him back, okay?" he insisted, taking her against his chest, wrapping his arms around her tight, pressing a rough kiss to the top of her head "I'm going to kick some stupid motherfucker's ass," he whispered to her, taking her gently by the shoulders, allowing her to attach her own arms around his waist as he moved them into the lounge.

"What's going on?" Stiles asked, looking straight at Derek, who looked angrier, but a lot less helpless than everyone else in the room. Stiles understood it, it was the same horrible, retching, pulsing feeling that was aching in his own body; one of their betas was in trouble, possibly hurt, and the person who had taken Jackson would not be allowed to live come the end of this situation.

Jackson was an asshole 90% of the time, really the only person that could spend 24/7 in his presence, was Lydia, because she had this weird supernatural tolerance for the guy and she kept him in line despite the fact that she was not a werewolf, or an alpha. But by fucking god was the dude part of the pack. Jackson was one of Stiles' pups, one of his babies, his demon wolfie doggy spawn and no one fucking hurt him without paying the price for it.

"We've scouted the area already, we managed to follow a scent out past the reserve but it was a false trail-"

"Lydia, do you have anything of Jackson's on you?" Stiles interrupted Derek, having heard all the information he needed.

"Yes, his keys, I've been driving the porche lately because he-"

"Okay," Stiles cut over her as well, getting a watery death glare which he ignored "that's not enough, it needs to be something he's touched recently," Stiles said fast, Lydia looked confused "something his aura will still be honking around, something – I don't know, something that's still strong with his presence," he'd started pacing. Isaac was watching him, as was Erica, but Boyd was sitting with his head in his hands on the armchair and Scott maintained his pensive expression. Allison moved to take Lydia's hand in comfort, but Stiles' lightbulb went off and he quickly grabbed her, pulling her back.

"No, no, don't touch her!" he shot "that's it!" he looked at Lydia again, his own expression slightly manic "were you with Jackson last?" he asked her. She was pissed off with him now, he could see it on her face, but she answered him with a nod nonetheless, bemused and curious as to what was going on inside his brilliant brain as a plan slowly began to float into place, fitting into a big jigsaw, creating a half-formed picture of what their next actions could be.

"Alright," he nodded, running his hand through his hair and drawing in a deep breath, pacing a couple more times before seemingly making a decision. He could feel Derek's irritation at his vagueness spiking in the pack energy, but he ignored that as well, wetting his lips.

He dialled Cassie's number on his phone, immediately beginning to talk when she answered "Cass," he said "I need you to track credit and debit card bills from Jackson Whittemore in the last four hours, and hack as much CCTV as you can between Plumas National Forest and Alameda County, get Beth, Zed and Ian on it too, I need the info pretty quick," he spoke as precisely as he could, trying to get it across that he really couldn't answer any questions at that point in time. Cass seemed to catch on, because she simply sighed, muttered a sleepy acceptation of his wishes, and hung up, promising to call him the moment she got a match.

"Okay, clear a space for me, get the furniture out of the way. Erica, go up to my bedroom and get me the box marked 'runes' in the bottom draw, Allison, get my linen sheet from the counter draw in the kitchen," the moment he started throwing out distracted instructions, people started moving. Scott and Isaac pushed the sofas against the back walls, Boyd pulled the rug away from the floor and threw it out of the way, a cloud of dust billowing up from the floorboards, causing him to have a slight coughing fit. Derek gravitated towards Stiles, looking him straight in the eyes.

"How much energy is this going to take?" he asked seriously, jaw pulsing slightly. Stiles broke the eye contact, taking the large linen cloth from Allison as she brought it back into the room, beginning to lay it in the centre of the space, gesturing for Lydia to stand as far away from everyone as possible whilst he set up.

"Not a lot," he lied, swallowing and forcing his heart beat – a well adjusted skill now – to remain as steady as he could keep it. It didn't work of course, and Derek huffed, taking a step back and crossing his big arms over his chest, making it very clear that he wasn't happy with what was going on, and that he wasn't happy that Stiles wasn't co-operating very clearly or truthfully "not for me anyway, I'm awesome, remember?" Stiles winked, shooting his former boyfriend a quick smirk.

Honestly, it was going to take an immense amount of his magical energy; he'd have to draw on his werewolf essence as well, not to mention the amount it was going to take out of Lydia – he didn't like it any more than Derek did, but this was what he was good at, and it was one of the only ways he could think of to get to Jackson.

He pulled his hoodie over the back of his head, then his t-shirt, blocking out the snicker from Isaac and the breath of surprise he heard from Derek's direction when his Triskelle was finally revealed. He had meant to show everyone back when he'd first arrived back in Beacon Hills, but he'd just sort of… chickened out. Besides, right now was not the time for explaining his tattoo choices, or the big celtic tree intricately drawn in green tattoo ink branching over his rib cage, vining off along his skin, covering the right side of his diaphragm and some of the right half of his spine. They had already seen the strange blue and purple symbols up parts of his arms and biceps, but he didn't make a habit of showing off his abs in public, unlike another certain sourwolf, so that was new to everyone.

He then took off his shoes and socks, though he left his jeans hanging on his lanky hips, taking Lydia's hand and pulling her to stand in front of him on the linen sheet. He pulled her jumper over her head, but didn't take her top off out of respect, besides, it was only him that really needed to be that bare, seeing as he was the caster and his tattoos were the ones he'd be pulling ambience from. It was all going to be based on earth magic, raw elemental aura, which was where the next part came in.

When the jumper mussed her already knotted hair, he looked at her for a moment, trying to convey just how much he needed her to trust him right now, before he grabbed her face, pressed a rough, lingering kiss to her frowning forehead, and sat down with his legs crossed on the cloth. Lydia got to her knees, sitting back on them opposite him.

"I know its cold, but we can't have the heating on for this, no interference, sorry," he apologised, and she nodded again. Her hands were shaking on her lap, but her head was held high and her face was the picture of determination. That was good, it was awesome that it was Lydia he had to work with for this, because she had so much strength as a person, and so much strength when it came to Jackson, after everything they had been through together. She was only wearing a denim mini and tights and she'd stepped out of her heels before she'd sat down, her torso covered only by a thin white tank top, but she refused to break down. It seemed that since he'd entered the vicinity, she'd gained more control on her emotions, and he was proud of her, that was the Lydia he knew and loved.

He thanked Erica when she put the box of runes down beside him. She took four or five steps back, giving them the space he had requested. He twitched his lips at Lydia with all the reassurance he could muster before he forced his long fingers to stop quivering, and opened the box protected with carvings that made it so that only he could utilise it. He took out the runes and crystals one by one, placing them strategically around them in a wide circle, feeling the connection link between each one buzz and align the moment he put them down, making him stronger. This was absolutely terrifying him, his ribs were aching with the sheer force it was taking to hide his fear – he'd performed spells like this before, but not to this extent, or to this magnitude. There was always a possibility, with high energy spells, that he could take it too far and kill both him and Lydia in the process – but Jackson was too important and he had to do whatever he could to get him back and make sure that the guy knew they were doing anything they could towards that cause.

"No one can break the circle after this; you break it, you fuck up a whole load of shit I'm not gonna get into right now, okay?" he said to everyone, getting nods all around the room, having to look reproachfully at Derek before he got his acceptance. He nodded back, smiling once more at Lydia before he pulled up the bottom of the left leg of his jeans and ripped his razor sharp dagger from the strap against his calf. He felt Derek shift uncomfortably to the right of him, but he didn't move to stop him, and Stiles placed the dagger in front of him for a moment, letting his eyes roll closed, hands outwards, palms facing the ceiling.

He breathed deeply, pulling his fear in to focus him, and letting it float away. He felt the content settling in his body, and that place in his soul flicker to life as he tugged gently on his magic. He let it flow through him, buzz through his finger tips and radiate from his skin, the tattoos on his body activating and joining together. When he opened his eyes slowly, the crystals and runes around them were floating securely in mid-air. It always took him a moment to adjust to the fact that this was him, it was coming from him and he was the one with all this power. It was so beautiful and scary, that sometimes it took his breath away.

Lydia was smirking at him slightly and he couldn't help smirking back, knowing that she was always so happy for him, understanding that he had been so fed up of being weak and human, but had never wanted this life either. He'd never asked for this power, it was just something he'd come by and he knew that it was the best thing that had ever happened to him.

The smirk faded from their lips when he swallowed the vial of serum that would render his superhuman healing processes null and void, taking his dagger and pressing it to his skin. He repressed a hiss at how cold it was, before cutting easily into his wrists all the way up his forearm, avoiding the veins as best he could, trying to ignore the alarming heat of the sticky red blood that immediately began pouring into his hands. He reached them both out for Lydia to take, the fear seeping into her eyes now, although she didn't even hesitate, her soft palms pressing against his, her manicured fingers curling so she was grasping equally hard as he was.

His arms hurt like hell, the torn muscle tissue burning and stinging against the air, but he blocked it out, pulling on his magic once more, searching for Lydia's essence with his powers as a guide. Eventually, he brushed against something that was cinnamon, strawberries and vanilla. Something solid and brash and at the core, burning bright with compassion and ferocity, beauty, intelligence and… immunity. He'd forgotten about that. He closed his eyes, allowing his magic to wrap itself around her and merge with her, linking her to the circle as well.

He always both adored this state, and hated it, because at this point, it always felt like his magic had more control over  _him_  rather than the other way around. He gripped it tight nonetheless and opened his eyes yet again, allowing himself to smile at the red mist spiralling around his arms, threading around Lydia's hands at the point of connection, and coiling around her arms as well. Blood was dripping rapidly from his wounds, but it was necessary and he straightened his back, held securely onto that connection, and allowed his claws and fangs to grow, adding the last ingredient to the round of pure power. He felt it throb out a little too far and smash the windows and he briefly registered Isaac making a move towards them, and Scott holding him back.

Now for the difficult bit.

* * *

Derek hated this. His instincts were in turmoil. He was first alpha, he was a protector, a preserver, and Stiles was… well, Stiles meant a fuck load to him and although he knew he'd have to survive it if they lost him, he didn't want to and he wasn't freaking stupid, he knew the kind of energy this sort of spell required, it could kill both Stiles and Lydia at the same time.

Yet, despite all that, the whole thing was completely transfixing. He literally couldn't take his eyes off Stiles. The floating rocks around his two pack members were enough, but then some of the blood had vaporised into red mist and wrapped itself around their arms, and Lydia looked petrified and captivated at the same time, and he could feel the quivers of pain vibrating off of Stiles every now and again and the whole damn thing was just putting him right on edge. He wanted to hit something, but he couldn't look away and he couldn't distract Stiles, not when he was this deep in the thrall of his powers. Everything seemed to be going well – as well as well could be anyway – it was when Stiles' claws and fangs elongated that Derek shifted his pose further, quietly crouching down, his own claws growing out as he placed a hand between his bent legs to steady his pose, watching closely.

Stiles cracked his neck, rolling his head around on it once before widening his shoulders and drawing in a deep breath, a little guttaralised by the wolf in him. Derek manoeuvred to the left so his view was primarily on Stiles. He couldn't prevent his small stumble and gasp as Stiles blinked and, like a shutter had gone down over the guy's eyes, they were black with a glowing ball of amber in the middle of them for pupils. Stiles was making the telepathic connection with Jackson through Lydia. Derek could feel the drain through the pack energy, though it was not directly affecting anyone outside the circle. Derek's eyes flickered over to the rest of the pack for a moment to check they were all unharmed, and despite all looking completely terrified, they were okay, though all braced in the same defensive poses as he was, ready to move if they had to.

"J-Jackson," Stiles choked slightly, his arms starting to shake, though Lydia reinforced the grip. She pushed forward whatever magic laid between them because Derek saw the red mist glow brighter and tighten around them "Jackson!" Stiles half-shouted, breaths coming out in quivering puffs now, heart beat speeding up "we're c-coming for you-" Stiles cut himself off to gasp desperately for air "y-you're gonna be o-okay," Stiles gagged, neck muscles visibly straining as the runes around them began to shiver and vibrate. Derek could almost hear their quiet pulsing, like they were whispering desperately very, very fast. Lydia was crying now, sobbing though frozen to the spot, tears streaming hot and fast down her face and Derek could tell that whatever Stiles was seeing through Jackson's mind, Lydia was seeing it too.

"Jackson just – just h-hold o-on-" Stiles was literally pushing every vocal cord he possessed now, his voice barely coming through in its coherent tone, lungs contracting fast and tightly, his biceps tensed, his claws breaking Lydia's skin where he was gripping onto her hands, blood bright crimson staining the linen, dripping from them, the metallic scent invading Derek's senses. He was doing everything in his power to hold back a howl at the sheer pain and terror spiking to alarming heights from both Lydia and Stiles, and it was resounding in his chest, throbbing in every one of his muscles.

This wasn't right at all.

"We're- we- we'll fi-ind you-" Stiles' breath struggled more than ever, quivering violently for a few moments, before suddenly, a staggering outburst of heat, energy, and power smashed literally all the windows in the house, set the car alarms off outside, and sent everyone flying back, slamming against the walls. Stiles' body went ridged, as though possessed and he was pulled up to his knees, before he literally just dropped in a flop of lifeless limbs to the ground like a puppet whose strings had been cut. At the same time, Lydia let out a high pitched wail that had to have been heard through half the reserve, and flopped her shoulders, bowing her head, the magic forcefully exiting her foreign body and simply dissipating in the air.

Derek scrambled to get to them, crawling over broken furniture and rubble, scratching across the floor, immediately pulling Stiles up into his lap, clutching at his unconscious body, hysterically feeling for a pulse, his hands shaking intensely. He actually let out a half sob of intense relief as he felt the weakest little throb of life in his neck. He reached for Lydia, Stiles body mostly still against his. Erica took Lydia's weight as her eyelids stuttered and she fell against the beta, meekly grabbing at Erica's tight arms holding her in place for an anchor, crying still despite the sheer lack of strength in her body.

"H-He was c-completely terrified!" she cried "they were – they were torturing him with- with cables and these – these horrible little bug things, they were just biting him and he wasn't even p-properly awake," she sobbed like it was physically paining her. Allison and Scott moved either side of Lydia and Erica, taking her hands and stroking her hair. Isaac moved towards Derek along with Boyd, pressing a singular hand to his shoulder, lowering his head to make eye contact.

"Derek, he needs help," Isaac said in a shaky, but firm voice, squeezing his shoulder and moving the hand to cup against his neck and jawline "c'mon, he gave me instructions if this kind of thing ever happened to him and you need to let me help him," he repeated clearly. Boyd's hand moved over Derek's to stop the quivering, moving it away from Stiles' chest slowly so that Isaac could carefully take Stiles' body and lay it out straight.

"Boyd, go get me his medical kit, it's in the glove compartment of the Jeep, be quick," Isaac instructed in a low voice, concentration mode switching on as he smiled, took Derek's hand again, and pressed it against Stiles' forehead.

"He's locked in his own head," Isaac said gently "his magic has a default setting where it shuts down his physical form if it gets to a certain point of overexertion and exhaustion - its designed to stop him killing himself by taking a spell too far. He's conscious, but he's not here physically, we need to help his magic along in the healing process and push out the toxin he took to stop his wolf healing those cuts so that he could use the blood magic. You can take some of his pain for the moment, I just need to stitch up his wounds so he doesn't lose anymore blood-" Isaac was cut off when Stiles' phone started ringing and he sighed, looking back at Derek for a moment "get on with the pain taking, he'll thank you for it later," he added before he scrambled a little towards where the phone was on the floor, and answered it.

"Cass, yeah, no everything's fine, Stiles just got himself into a bit of a mishap, you know what he's like with knives and sharp things-" Derek would have laughed at what Isaac was saying if it wasn't such an unfunny and horrifying situation, because the cover story was indeed, highly plausible. Stiles was fucking stupid with sharp things, he was always hurting himself because he was so damn clumsy. It was a good job the guy was an alpha werewolf, or he'd surely have fallen and impaled himself on a bread knife by now.

"It's okay, he just can't come to the phone right now, Derek's trying to patch him up and they're having a little lover's tiff, but I gotta go and I'll get Stiles to call you later, okay?"

Boyd came back into the room and Isaac hung up, unzipping the medical bag with surprisingly steady hands, identifying another vial of strange, almost glowing, yellow liquid.

"It's fulgurite," Isaac said without looking at Derek, lifting Stiles' neck slightly and tipping it down his throat, looking reassured when Stiles choked slightly, but swallowed it, though remaining physically unconscious "well, it's got an essence of fulgurite in it at least; it's a stimulation crystal, it'll kick start his wolf healing in about an hour when it gets to all the proper nerve endings, similar to what he did for Erica just after we got her back from the alpha pack. I'm going to give him some blood replenishing stuff, and something for his pain, although you should be the best thing for that," Isaac smiled at him again briefly before administering a complete repertoire of concoctions. He even took a handful of green powder and one point and sprinkled it over Stiles' face.

The whole time, Derek stayed on his knees beside Stiles' body with both hands on the guy's forehead, draining as much pain as he could, feeling it taking its toll on his own stamina, his wolf whining at him to quit overworking it. He wasn't going to stop though, not until it was clear Stiles wasn't in anymore pain. He doubled his efforts when Isaac poured vodka over the wounds on his wrists, knowing how that stung like a bitch, and watched his own veins go an even darker black as Isaac began stitching the skin back together.

Half his instincts were keeping him beside Stiles, his second alpha, his best friend, the guy he was in love with – and the other half were screaming at him to move over to Lydia, his human beta, and to comfort her and hear the new information so that they could reclaim his  _other_ beta werewolf, Lydia's boyfriend, who was in fact off somewhere unknown being horribly tortured. How they even managed to get themselves into these situations, Derek would never know. Scott lit a few dozen candles everywhere and Boyd assisted Allison in putting the furniture that wasn't broken, out of the way again whilst they dealt with their two casualties.

* * *

Things had been really quiet for about five hours now. It had been a total of four days since the spell, and Stiles' friend Cassie had identified two people bundling Jackson into the back of a cab near an abandoned manor about fifty miles out of Beacon Hills.

Leaving Stiles with Danny, who was now briefly informed of their little werewolf situation – having argued with Lydia yet again about letting the humans come along to fights because it was 'speciesism' and she wouldn't stand for it – Derek had taken the pack to the manor. They had been confronted with more of these psychopathic asshole witches than they had originally expected, and after being thrown against walls and beaten quite bloody as a pack, Lydia had had the sense to bring boneset powder in her little Deaton-esque pack of protective and defensive herbs she wore in a fanny pack around her waist, and had utilised it, temporarily rendering the witches powerless.

The bitches had still put up a half-decent fight, but Derek was pissed big time, everyone was, and with the betas and their claws, and Allison and her knives, and Lydia and her new surprisingly exquisite skills in combat, they had eventually managed to take out every last one of them. It wasn't a blood bath, the witches were still alive, but they got Jackson out, and Lydia had a little fun in the process (meaning she tied the witches to the chairs, gave them a little bit of star treatment, then planted a highly illegal herb on them and called the cops). It gave the pack enough time to scatter with a very weak Jackson and be on the road in Derek's new transporter before they'd even heard sirens.

Right at this moment, Jackson was upstairs resting whilst Deaton tended to his rather nauseating wounds, and Lydia was sleeping soundly in bed beside her rescued boyfriend, Allison holding her hand tight, Erica curled up in a chair near Jackson's side of the bed. Isaac and Boyd had eaten five meat feast jumbo sized pizzas whilst they had waited for their own injuries to heal, and had also gone up to take Derek's bed, where they had both been completely dead to the world for hours. Scott was on the armchair to the right of Derek, also sleeping deeply, although he'd put up a good fight trying to stay awake for around twenty seven hours; both he and Scott had been watching Stiles since they'd got back.

Derek… didn't know particularly how he was feeling right now, simply because he was feeling so many things all at once. He felt like he was losing his mind because Stiles was locked inside his own head unconscious and hadn't woken for nearly five days, he felt like he was going to be sick because he hadn't eaten more than a sandwich since he had returned from getting Jackson, he hadn't slept more than five hours since then either, so he was completely exhausted. He was overwhelmingly relived that he had all his betas back relatively safe and sound, he was irritated with Scott because he was being so persistent. He was angry, because Stiles had put himself in danger again, without a seconds thought, and he had selflessly pushed himself to the brink of comatose without hesitation.

Jesus Christ it hurt, seeing Stiles like this, so… lifeless. Derek had watched Stiles sleep before, back when they were together, and this was different, there was literally no animation in his features whatsoever, it was mind ruining. For a second during and after that spell, Derek had thought he might actually have to watch Stiles die, and it had been truly one of the most terrifyingly painful moments of his entire life – and he'd had a lot of terrifyingly painful moments in his life, enough to last ages. He couldn't lose anymore of the people he cared about, he just couldn't.

He drew in a deep sigh and ran a hand through his unwashed hair, wetting his chapped lips. It would take a lot to come back from this, Derek knew. Things like this were always overly-traumatic for him, they always hit him harder than they would normal people – it didn't surprise him, the amount of trauma he'd been through was enough to warrant an overreaction when he had nearly lost one of the most important people in his life for the hundredth time, and been helpless to stop it. Honestly, what good was being an alpha werewolf if he couldn't even protect his fucking pack?

As if on cue however, Stiles gave a loud snort that nearly gave Derek heart failure, then choked, dissolving into a coughing fit, gasping and retching for oxygen. Derek was moving straight away, lifting his neck slightly so he could get some air. He wanted to feel relief, but he had no idea whether this was a fluke or not.

"DEATON!" Derek yelled at the top of his lungs, jolting Scott awake violently. Upstairs, Lydia groaned and rolled over, pulling the pillow back over her head and going back to sleep. Deaton came rushing down the stairs as fast as he could, and immediately a smile graced the older man's darker features as he moved further into the lounge. Scott was beside Derek before he had even had the chance to let out an intense breath of ridiculous reprieve as Stiles' eyes fluttered open and he winced at the light of the lamp at the bottom of the sofa, squeezing his eyes shut a second longer before slowly opening them again.

"Ugghhh Derek, you seriously fucking honk," he croaked, grimacing. It was so stupidly dumb, so overwhelmingly Stiles-like, that Derek couldn't help tearing up a bit. He huffed out a small laugh of exasperation, wanting to hit the bastard and kiss him senseless at the same time.

"You fucking asshole," he berated as Stiles started to sit up slightly "you absolute knobjockey, I can't believe you actually did it again, I swear to god one of these days you will actually genuinely be the death-"

But Derek was cut off when Stiles grabbed his face, yanked him up from his crouched position and crushed their lips together desperately. It wasn't their best kiss, by anybody's standards. Their lips were dry, the angle was off, Derek had been mid speech, but quite frankly, he didn't give a donkey's shit, because it was bruising and needy and eventually Derek adjusted to what was actually happening, and just sort of melted (despite the fact that Stiles' hands were still gripping at his face and his nails were digging in).

"Oh c'mon," Scott whined "I stayed up for nearly two days straight to keep an eye on you, and when you wake up, all you do is play fucking tonsil tennis-"

"Scott," Deaton cleared his throat, gesturing towards the kitchen "I think it's our cue to leave," he said. Scott huffed out a bratty sigh and followed the doctor out of the room.

The kiss continued of course, Derek somehow ending up tangled against Stiles' body, moaning into his mouth, Stiles literally whimpering when he sucked onto his bottom lip "you're not off the –  _fuck_  – hook," Derek breathed between kisses.

"I don't give a fuck," Stiles panted, hands clutching at the back of Derek's hair "I've been shut in my head for– jesus fucking christ you  _asshole_ ," he groaned when Derek sucked along his pulse point, revelling in how alive it was against his tongue, how real it was that the person he hadn't seen move in days, the person he was in love with, was awake and breathing and wow that had only really just registered with him, and he slowed his kisses down, working back up to Stiles' mouth where he simply pressed a lingering peck before pushing up a little so he could look at his face properly.

"If you ever do that to me again, I might actually die," Derek snapped, glaring at him and his stupid beautiful brown eyes, dilated ridiculously with the beginnings of almost-arousal.

"Wow Der," he chuckled meekly "dramatic much"

"I don't give a fuck," he repeated Stiles' earlier words "I've been sat here for four days watching you stay locked in your own head because you thought it would be clever to push yourself into a fucking coma trying to reassure Jackson the douchebag," he growled. Stiles sighed, closing his eyes for a few seconds. When he opened them again, they were back to their normal size and he was smiling softly, weakly up at Derek and he just looked so tired and small. Derek couldn't stay angry with him right now, he just let out a breath of exhaustion and pressed their foreheads together. He stayed like that for a while, simply remembering what it was like to feel Stiles warm and real against him, alive and  _there_  in his head like he should always be.

"I love you so fucking much," he couldn't help himself, it came out so broken and lost and  _tired_ and he was just so fed up of denying it, of holding back, of not allowing himself to be with Stiles because of all the times it had just  _ruined_  him in the past. He couldn't deal with it anymore, it was too much, he missed him. He felt Stiles' breath catch and heard his heartbeat skip slightly as he squeezed his eyes shut tight and drew in a quivering breath.

"Derek," Stiles breathed "I am so fucking sorry for everything," he whispered "I handled it all so badly and the last thing I ever wanted to do was walk away from you, but I did, like over and over and fucking over again and jesus fucking christ," he said in a hushed tone "I'm just so sorry, and I don't want you to ever think that I could just stop loving you, you big dumb asshole-"

Derek pressed his finger against Stiles' lips with one raised eyebrow and a tiny, reproachful smirk that made him bristle, but have to hold back a returning smile all the same. He was trying to apologise and he was being hushed from his babbling, which was normal Derek behaviour, except before it had been a slap to the head to get him to shut up.

He was reminded of the night before his father's death, just for a second, and he could almost feel Derek's keening and the hot, broken breath against his neck telling him to shut the hell up and get out of his own head. He might have been able to look back on that night as one of their best fucks ever, had he not been briefly and cruelly woken early that morning in an empty bed – Derek had gone for a run – by his mobile ringing and the deputy on the phone telling him that his father had been in the fatal accident involving an animal and lots of teeth. Of course, it had been Klaus and fangs that had finished off John Stilinski, Stiles thought bitterly, pissed even now that the evil fucker hadn't gotten his comeuppance.

But he shook it off, realising that for the first time in about two and a half years, Stiles might actually be able to have Derek growling against his neck, grinding between his legs with those ridiculously beautiful hipbones – and there might not even be a catch to it. He rolled his eyes, immediately regretting it as his migraine returned full force and gave a particularly painful throb.

He wanted to keep kissing Derek, but he highly doubted the pack would appreciate them fucking each other into the couch when everyone was still in the house. Besides, although Stiles really did want to rekindle his relationship with the grumpy alpha, he wasn't up to much at the moment as his body was still terribly drained from that damn spell and the coma, and an ache was setting in between all of his bones, making his muscles feel like dull scrunches of tissue and his brain feel as though it had been repeatedly beaten with Scott's baseball bat.

He groaned in pain and rolled into Derek's body, trapping him against the back of the sofa and burying his nose in his t-shirt, shamelessly drinking in the scent and feeling a little relief to the horrible pounding in his skull. Stiles wrapped his arms tightly and snugly around the alpha's waist and demanded his complete surrender, tangling their legs together and wrapping himself in the ridiculous warmth radiating from him. He didn't give a fuck if someone took pictures and put them on the internet in the morning, he was not fucking moving from this position until he absolutely had to, and no, Derek did not have a say in the matter.

* * *

When he woke up, it was still pitch black and he was really, really, ridiculously warm. A blanket had been thrown over him, and he was curled up and pretty much attached to a deliciously comfortable body. Strong arms were wrapped around his waist from behind, and a steady, soothing breath was fanning gently over his neck where Derek's face was practically buried.

Stiles drew in his own deep breath and resisted the urge to let out a loud whine of pain when he twitched his leg a little and felt all the aches in his body spark up, his muscles sluggish and heavy, bones stiff and tired, head feeling as though it was stuffed with cotton wool. He grimaced at the enhanced taste of six days without brushing his teeth, and the way his eyes burned even after all the sleeping he'd been doing. Really? Seriously? How much was it going to take for his body to recover from this damn spell? He was so fucking fed up of it all. He moved his hands from where they were settled on top of Derek's resting on his stomach, and closed his eyes again.

Stiles' claws elongated and his teeth grew in his mouth and he held in a whimper at the tiny snap of indignation his body gave at the effort. He didn't give a fuck, if bringing his wolf to the surface sped up the healing process, he'd just have to deal with it. He slowly relaxed again, keeping his nails long and his teeth sharp but resting his muscles, licking his lips and smiling weakly to himself as the splits in them healed over immediately.

"It's too early to be awake," Derek mumbled against his skin. Stiles smiled a little wider and snuggled back against his sourwolf, relaxing even further when he pressed a kiss to the top of his spine, nose nuzzling at the skin there for a moment. It was disgustingly adorable, the same way Derek had always been when he was sleepy - grumpy and delightfully tactile and Stiles was still stuck between telling himself that he'd  _needed_  those two years at uni away from everyone, and wanting to kick himself in the face because of how stupid it was to just leave in the way he had done.

"Go back to sleep then," Stiles replied quietly, his voice croaky and feeble. Derek sighed softly and pulled him in impossibly closer.

"Shut up Stiles," he breathed, settling down again. And the exhaustion dragging at his every thought and word, combined with Derek's warmth and the pack asleep upstairs, Stiles drifted back off into a dreamless sleep, hoping that he might actually be able to move more than a few centimetres in the morning.

* * *

He noticed it first when he was working. He was back at the baristas in town, and he wasn't being paid much for it, which was pretty much what he'd requested, because he was already earning too much money with the sales of his book, and whilst he'd always claimed to have expensive tastes, there was really nothing he could think to do with it all.

Anyway, he was re-stocking in the back room because Beth was on the tills today, and he was just about to lift the heaviest box up to the coco shelf, when the box he had literally just shelved on the other side of the room, slid straight off and crashed to the ground.

Stiles whipped around immediately, eyes flashing red as they scanned the room for threat. He frowned when there was none. He could hear no extra heartbeat, no out of place breath pattern. He couldn't smell anything different overlaying Beth's strong perfume and he couldn't see any sections of heat in the room that shouldn't be there. Instead, it actually felt like the temperature had dropped slightly – whilst summer was starting to fade, and the crispness of autumn was brewing in the air, it wasn't that cold.

He glanced at the only window in the room. It was closed tightly, and fitted with a draft excluder after Johnny, the younger barista in training, had complained about it earlier on in the week. They were locked up at the moment, the latch over the double doors at the entrance in the other room; they would be closing properly in an hour after Stiles had finished with his jobs, and Beth had cashed up the till. There was literally no way that any wind could have knocked anything off. Besides, Stiles would have felt a draft.

"Beth? You okay?" Stiles called, brow creasing slightly as he waited for an answer.

"Y-mhmhmp"

She had a damn pen in her mouth again, and she took it out and answered more clearly afterward as Stiles poked his head around the doorframe. She smiled at him and nodded.

"Yup, all good. Why?"

"Nothing, it's just that the box got knocked off the shelf a second ago but there's no one else in here and all the windows are shut," he explained.

"Ah," Beth grinned, a teasing glint in her eyes "I forgot how creeped out you get by ghosts and the supernatural and all that bullshit," she said. He raised his eyebrows and smiled with his lips pursed for a moment.

"You have no idea," he sighed, going back to what he was doing, trying to put away what had happened in his head – maybe he hadn't put the box on the shelf properly, and it had just fallen off because it had been at an awkward angle or something. He had been quite paranoid lately. He put it down to being back in Beacon Hills. As much as he loved his hometown, this was where all the supernatural 'bullshit' had started, and it made him quite jumpy sometimes. It was driving Derek up the wall though, so Stiles was making an appointment with the local therapist tomorrow. It was about time he got his head sorted anyway, he'd been neglecting to confront all of that stuff for a long time.

"Alright, I'm off," he said to Beth, locking the door of the store cupboard and pressing a quick, rough kiss to her cheek. She grinned at him and nodded.

"I'll lock up. Hey, its dark out so be careful," she said as he neared the double doors of the café.

"You want me to wait? I can walk you home?" he offered, but she rolled her eyes and shook her head, waving him out of the doors. Beth was human, but she'd been taking jujitsu and combat classes since she was eleven – she could pretty much handle herself. Against other human attackers anyways.

It was nice, walking home by himself. It's why he didn't bring the jeep with him to work anymore. The streets were relatively quiet at 2:00am when he finished his shift, which meant he could trudge through the three inches of snow relatively easy with his collar turned up covering most of his neck, and his hands in his pockets, his breath curling softly in the air every time he exhaled. He had little fears anymore – without sounding cocky, he was pretty fuckin good in hand-to-hand confrontations now, being an alpha werewolf mage and all. He could take at least half the mythical creatures he knew of down with a simple look to the eyes.

"Cal," Stiles nodded with a small laugh as his dad's old buddy stumbled out of the club as he walked through the main strip, unshaven and smelling of vodka.

"Stillllinksiii, ol' boy – how – hooow're you dooin?" he slurred, holding onto the lamppost for support.

"Not bad. You need me to call you a cab?" he asked, just managing to catch the disorientated man before he tripped and cracked his head on the pavement. Cal shook his head, using Stiles' arm to gain back his balance before he let go.

"Allreadddy called one – Kevvvvvv diid it f-fooor me," he managed with a numb tongue, and the alcohol slowing his motor neurone responses. Stiles nodded with a smile and another small chuckle as he watched Cal drop ungracefully on his ass to the curb, waiting for his ride to pick him up.

"You got cash?" Stiles asked, and Cal nodded, also shooing him away.

"Get home kid, s'cold," he instructed, and Stiles didn't disagree with him there. As he walked away, he muttered a small warming charm so that Cal wouldn't catch hypothermia whilst he was waiting, before taking off at a slightly more brisk pace, turning a couple more corners before he reached his apartment building.

He only really started to feel the weight of a long night's shift when he locked his door behind him and shrugged stiffly out of his coat, flicking the light switch up to dim in the hallway and stepping out of his shoes. Even werewolves got tired sometimes, despite their high stamina and flashy eyes. So he ate a small bowl of cereal to satisfy the growling in his stomach, and drank half a carton of milk straight from the fridge. Just as he flopped into bed, managing only just to get out of his jeans and t-shirt, he cursed the universe that Derek was away in Ohio with Isaac helping an old friend out with some pest control on a couple of rowdy vampires. He could really do with a warm, strong muscular body pressed against his back to help him sleep.


	10. Wires

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so this may or may not be the penultimate chapter depending on how chapter 11 (which I'm still writing) turns out. It probably wont be because I don't want to rush the ending too much, and would rather give it all its own chapter to finish it all properly. I apologise in advance for any feels caused; I actually got upset writing this one.
> 
> Enjoy, and please, please let me know what you think. I've put the most work into this chapter and I want to know how it looks to other people.
> 
> Deexx

 

"Down corridors, through automatic doors, got to get to you, got to see this through. First night of your life, curled up on your own. Looking at you now, you would never know."

* * *

Derek found him lounged against a headstone, back resting there, legs out in front of him, one bent at the knee. He had a dandelion in his hands and was picking at it absent-mindedly. It used to be a lot easier to sneak up on him, back when he didn't have superhuman hearing, but it was so different now. So, so different.

He didn't approach though, not straight away. He lingered a few rows away, hands in the pockets of his leather jacket, breath coming out in steady tufts, visible against the colder air. Winter was on its way again. Derek's jaw was set still, but his eyes and ears were honed in on his boyfriend, watching as the younger man stared at his mother and father's gravestones.

"Book's published now," Stiles spoke, and Derek's heart skipped a second because there was a tone in his voice that Stiles had only ever specifically used when talking to Sheriff John Stilinski. Derek never heard that tone anymore, and it was a shock to his system. He shifted on his feet a little, but continued to give Stiles his space, wondering if he was even aware of his presence.

"People are actually buying it as well," he remarked and Derek could practically see the smirk on Stiles' lips, even if he didn't actually have a view of his face "remember when you told me it'd sell and I kept saying nah, it's not good enough? You just… believed in me. Just like that, no question. You didn't even need to read the fucking story and you insisted that it was going to make money, that other people were gonna read it-" he cut himself off, throat getting a bit croaky. Derek heard Stiles' heart speed up however, could almost feel the tears on the younger man's face as if they were his own.

"You can stop lurking now," Stiles called over his own shoulder and Derek couldn't help rolling his eyes, sighing and moving forward, sitting down on the grass next to Stiles, using the headstone to the left of Stiles as a back rest "hey dad, mom, got myself my own town nut job. He's a bit of a creeper," he grinned, shooting Derek a sideways glance and wiping the tear tracks from his defined cheekbones "but he's alright really, when he's not scowling," he added, chuckling a little and sniffing when Derek did just that.

But, rather abruptly, silence fell again and the atmosphere was back to serious. Derek didn't really mind silence if he was being honest, he actually preferred it to noise about 80% of the time – which wasn't particularly representative of his lifestyle choices seeing as he was alpha to a hoarding of young-adult werewolves, and was dating the one with the attention deficit hyperactivity disorder. But he'd had enough silence in his life to know and understand that there were different types of it. This… well, he supposed this was thoughtful, and he let Stiles have control of it because this wasn't a moment for Derek, it was for his boyfriend sat next to him and the two corpses lying six feet underground in front of them.

"How do you do it?" Stiles asked, his voice slightly startling after around twenty minutes of nothing but stillness and cold and the crows swooping through the cemetery every now and again. Derek didn't move much, but he turned his head slightly and raised an eyebrow in question.

"I mean how do you get up every morning?" Stiles repeated in more detail "I lost my parents and its crippling sometimes, but you-" he drew in a sharp breath, still staring at his parents' name carved into the stone before them "you lost your whole family, all of them, and jesus Der," he breathed, shaking his head a little, swallowing "I don't even come close to the amount of pain you must keep locked away in there every day. You're just freaking ridiculous," Stiles' voice was quiet, but it had raised a slight decibel and Derek knew it meant he was getting upset.

"If you want my honest answer," Derek replied dully "I don't have a clue," he sighed, eyelids flickering for a second "I don't know how I even managed those first couple of years, let alone everything that's happened since then," he shrugged, watching Stiles' brown eyes still stone clad fixated in front of himself.

Derek wasn't really the kind of person that dwelled on attractiveness – vanity was never particularly important to him in the relationship department (mainly because after Kate he didn't ever think he'd want to be in a relationship for the rest of his miserable days). But, even though it wasn't often he said it, Stiles was just… breathtaking.

It was everything about him. The warmth and compassion and mirth in his older-than-his-years eyes, the leanness of his body and the way his muscles moved beneath his ridiculously pale, alabaster skin. The moles dotting his jawline, the way he was always stupidly thin no matter how much junk food he shoved in his mouth. Ah, the mouth, the bane of Derek's existence on a number of occasions when he'd been trying to concentrate and Stiles' mouth was just so damn distracting. The cheekbones, again, thin and a little gaunt at times, but always stunning and always charming. The hair – even when it had been a buzz cut Derek had found it weirdly endearing, but it suited him like this as well; dark brown, soft, flicking up at awkward angles in the mornings, perfect to tug on at night.

So, Derek wasn't big on appearance, but he was well aware that Stiles was really rather fantastic in that sense – quietly so, on a much more subtle, detailed level with intricacies and sculpted bone structure, but fantastic nonetheless. And yes, sometimes he got a little carried away just looking at him, admiring his profile and counting the imperfections on his face. Right now, with the white, garish colour of the winter daylight laying itself obnoxiously around the two men, revealing their breaths to them on the air, Stiles looked – uggh he hated that it sounded so cheesy – but the little fucker looked beautiful. Masculine and matured with a remaining hint of childish arrogance, as always.

Derek didn't say it, but Stiles turned his head a little, meeting his eyes and giving him a smile that told him he knew exactly what he was thinking.

"You know I haven't been here since the funeral?" Stiles kept eye contact this time "I didn't have the time or the balls to come back here," he explained "and it's my fault. They died because of me. I know they wouldn't want me thinking that, but I pushed Klaus, and he killed my dad, and  _she_  was my fault too," there was a longer pause when Derek felt the catching of Stiles' breath in his own chest, and he had to lock his jaw in tighter to hide it.

"Stiles," Derek spoke firmly, shuffling closer to him and nudging him sideways so they were sharing a headstone, shoulders and legs pressed together "do you remember when you first met me?" he asked.

Stiles swallowed, blinked, and sighed again, nodding "when I first met you properly you were an asshole," Stiles admitted reluctantly, obviously seeing exactly where Derek was going with this.

"I wasn't just an asshole. I was reckless and angry and bitter and I didn't have any reservations about killing-"

"Yeah but you were always trying to save people as well, you just wanted to protect the town-"

"It doesn't matter, you remember the way I was when we first knew each other. I was bad, and selfish and broken. I'm still an asshole, but… I'm different now. Either way, I know what a bad person looks like, I know how it fucks with your mind and I know evil when I look at it and you-" Derek broke off, finding it difficult to put everything into comprehensible words, as usual "you're the farthest thing from evil I've ever known – and I've known some pretty malevolent bastards," he said, drawing in a shaky breath. Stiles took his hand between them, lacing their fingers together "my point is, you didn't kill your parents. Your mom was ill, it was shit, but it wasn't something you could have stopped or controlled, you were just a fucking kid! And you didn't kill your dad either, Klaus did and  _fuck_ , I'll return the favour one day, but you know you're not to blame for this shit. You were the one that taught me not to think like that, remember?" Derek nudged him again, uncomfortable with having to be so gentle in his words.

Stiles thought about it for another twenty minutes and eventually, he let out a breath through his nose, wetting his lips and dropping his head sideways into the crook of Derek's neck. Soon after, it started snowing, but they didn't move, remaining there watching over the headstones for a little longer as a blanket of white grew around them. And when they did leave, Derek helping Stiles to his feet – he still wasn't at full capacity yet – they walked away together, Stiles hugging Derek's arm, Derek with his hand in his pocket, pressing a rough kiss to Stiles' scalp.

Derek didn't ever want to lose Stiles again.

* * *

"Uhh… Stiles?"

"Yeah?"

"Did you bring the room temperature down?"

"No, why?"

"Because it's fucking freezing"

Stiles looked up from his laptop, his brow creasing ridiculously as he sniffed the air for anything that was off. It was unlikely, he'd lined the apartment with protective herbs and spelled them to ward anything out apart from the pack.

"You're right," he agreed, darting it tongue out in an outrageous manner, tasting the air now, seeing if there was anything in particular that stood out. Scott blinked a few times at his friend, before rolling his eyes and pushing off of the bed, stepping barefoot across the bedroom out into the lounge.

Everything seemed pretty normal. The rest of the place was empty, the pack weren't due to be over for another two hours, and Derek would be even longer, seeing as he was on take away duty tonight. But as far as Scott could tell, nothing was specifically weird looking – at least not in comparison to how it usually looked anyway. Stiles moved to stand behind him, still worrying his brow and narrowing his eyes, scanning the room more closely. He placed a hand on Scott's shoulder and stepped in front of him – it was a little bit of an alpha instinct now; he had this strange subconscious need to put himself between anything suspicious, and his betas.

He swallowed to wet his throat, walking slowly and cautiously across the oak wood flooring, grabbing the handle of the metal door and sliding it across, poking his head around it and looking up and down the hallway. Nothing was there, nothing looked peculiar or attention grabbing. He closed the door again with a small tut, huffing and going with short, fast paces towards his airing cupboard, flinging it open to check the heating dial.

It was up at full heat and the boiler was rumbling in a low tone the same way that it always did. He heard Scott shiver from nearby as his lips parted a slit, and he held back a gasp when his breath could be seen in the air in front of him. Jesus it really was cold in here. Stiles didn't know why he hadn't noticed straight away. Although, when he was writing, it did take a while for him to notice much of anything outside of his own fictional universe unless it was directly pointed out to him.

Shortly after noticing his breath in the air however, a horrible feeling of foreboding washed over him and jolted in his gut, harshly lifting all of the hairs on his body and giving him goosebumps, sending a shiver up his spine. He snapped the cupboard shut quickly and turned to his friend, who looked slightly worried when he met Stiles' eyes. Shit, maybe Stiles was panicking more than he'd originally thought. Why though? They were werewolves for fuck sake – why would a change in temperature and a weird, prickling emotion send them into full on horror movie terror mode?

"Dude, did you feel that?" Stiles asked, heart beating picking up ever so slightly. Scott's pretty brown puppy eyes got even more concerned when he heard the question, rubbing his own arms to gather some heat, and shaking his head.

"No man, feel what?" he replied. Stiles didn't answer, instead he pushed past Scott gently, going to the nearest window ledge.

"Shit," he breathed, as though the word had escaped his lips without meaning to, turning to condensation in the air, more visible against the garish white sunlight streaming in through the paned window.

"What?" Scott asked, watching Stiles swipe a finger across the plastic surface and sniff at it. He drew in a deeper, shaky breath, meeting Scott's eyes again.

"Sulphur"

* * *

"A ghost?" Derek reiterated with raised eyebrows, big arms crossed over his chest.

"Yes, genius," Stiles replied "a fucking ghost, spirit, presence. Whatever. The point is, this place is haunted and I'm not leaving just because it wants to shack up here. Ergo," he gestured wildly at Derek from where he was perched on the kitchen counter "we get rid of the little hitchhiker and I can go on living my normal, young-adult, apple pie, mildly drug free life," he finished, oblivious to the rest of the pack looking either doubtful or concerned.

The apartment was quite big really – light and dark browns mixed with reds, brick walls and high ceilings. The steel metal slider front door opened out into a spacious living room that extended to an open kitchenette complete with a microwave, a sink, a kettle, a toaster, a stove oven, and a couple of small cupboards containing plates and cups and cutlery. There was a door on the far wall connecting the kitchen and living room that lead to Stiles' simple, large room complete with a king sized bed, a desk, his famous spinning chair, and an en-suit bathroom that did everything it pretty much said on the tin. It wasn't overly expensive for Stiles; his book sales usually either stayed on a manageable line, or went up as he continued to get mostly good reviews. At one point, he'd even been a New York Times bestseller, but John Green and his damn faulty stars had taken the spot almost straight away the following week.

Right now, Stiles mainly just worked at the baristas for most of the week, spent time with Derek and the pack, and carried on working on the new book he'd started. It was good. It was peaceful. He was really fucking happy.

But, of course, now he had a fucking ghost for a lodger, and he doubted that whilst he was sure the process of eliminating it wouldn't be all that complicated, it  _would_  be mildly dangerous and slightly terrifying. Werewolf mage or not, ghosts and spirits were still fucking scary okay, it was just integrated in him.

"Are you sure it's a ghost? I mean, it does seem a little far-fetched," Jackson commented from the couch in the lounge.

"You can talk, lizard man. You had fucking scales and green shit. And we're  _werewolves_ dude, fucking werewolves.  _That_  you can come to terms with, but the concept of a ghost is too difficult for you to grasp?"

"Just because you're my alpha doesn't mean I won't still kick your ass," Jackson pointed out loudly and Stiles rolled his eyes, jumping off the counter and grabbing the plates from the cupboard when the front door went and the smell of Chinese food filled his senses, making his stomach rumble.

Derek answered the door, and Lydia and Allison helped him carry the mass of food to the sofas where everyone now automatically congregated. Scott wordlessly took out the six bottles of cola and began pouring glasses out, Stiles handed out the plates and cutlery, Jackson opened the windows so it didn't all stink the place out, Isaac and Boyd began giving everyone the individual dishes, and Erica crouched in front of the TV, scanning the DVD collection for a new movie they could watch.

"Erica, I love you," Stiles grinned when she dropped down next to him and the title sequence of the new Disney movie Frozen played across the screen. He gave her the spring roll and chicken balls she'd ordered, and took his own drink from the table, sitting back a little more against the plush cushions and moving so that he was a little closer to Derek on the right of him.

There was a small wrestling match when Erica, Stiles, Isaac, and Scott all enjoyed singing Do you wanna build a snowman at the top of their lungs, much to the dismay of Derek and Jackson who both found the habit annoying and were perfectly aware that was one of the reasons why they did it. Stiles finished the bickering by abruptly shoving a battered pork ball covered in sweet and sour sauce straight into Derek's mouth, smiling widely and innocently at him whilst everyone – including Jackson – held back fits of giggles at Derek's pork ball filled murderous expression.

Come eleven that night, everyone had left including Derek who had to travel up to Missouri the following morning to see a guy about some more vervain and mountain ash because he was a good boyfriend and Stiles was low on supplies but had a busy week ahead of him doing some press updates.

Before he went to bed around midnight after giving the lounge a quick once over, Stiles padded around the apartment, bloated, overindulged on literal puppy love, and sleepy. Yawning loudly and ridiculously, he burned sage all the way through the rooms and made sure to strengthen his wards – although there wasn't a lot of magic he could really perform when he was tired, it was dangerous for him and he didn't really want to be taking a trip to Beacon Hills memorial at half twelve in the morning.

He turned the heating all the way up once more, locked all the doors and windows, and lined his doorframe with salt, all the while fighting against droopy eyes and sluggish limbs. Eventually, when he finally fell into bed, he was simply too tired to really acknowledge that there was something wrong with the fact that he was this exhausted after a day of doing so little. He just flopped onto his front against the duvets and immediately dropped out for the count.

* * *

He was jolted awake abruptly, fangs elongated, claws growing out as something in his lounge smashed loudly, pulling him forcefully from whatever he'd been dreaming about and sending him straight into full blown defensive mode.

After a few seconds of calming himself down, he sniffed the air and growled a little low in his throat at the putrid smell of sulphur, stronger now than before. He clicked his fingers and his desk lamp flicked on, casting a warm glow over his whole room, bathing it in light. He blinked a few times with his human eyes, getting rid of the tired blurriness and rubbing his forehead. He jumped out of bed, padding slowly across the carpet and out into the lounge, shaking his hands a little to get his sleep numbed fingers used to the claws protruding from them.

"Derek?" he called out, blinking once again now he had more control over his wolf, his eyes switching to red as he scanned the apartment with enhanced vision "what have I told you about creeping around in the middle of the night –  _fuck_!" he yelled as he stepped straight into a pile of broken glass and hissed, hopping around clutching his foot, blood dripping everywhere. He huffed, grabbing at the kitchen top for balance when he almost fell on his ass, pulling the shard out and breathing deeply as he watched at least one of the layers of skin heal over straight away. It was still sore looking though, and covered in blood. He tried to gather himself as much as he could before crouching down slowly where the glass was still shattered across the floor. He swept his finger softly across one of the smoother pieces, bringing it up and cursing some more at the black powder on it.

"Motherfucker," he half-shouted, standing back up and panting slightly with a mix of fear, fury, and lingering pain "you're a tricky little bitch aren't you?" he breathed, clutching the fabric of his old t-shirt over the place whereabouts his heart was situated, clicking again to turn the lights on in the lounge and kitchen as well. He didn't  _want_  to call anyone – everyone was busy the following day and needed their beauty sleep, but honestly this was a pack development and as much as he didn't want to wake anyone up with this new incident, he also didn't want to listen to everyone ranting at him for leaving it until morning to talk to them when he could be in danger.

Not that it made much of a difference of course, he could very much protect his own backside – they were just funny about these things, Stiles put it down to the way they still found it difficult to remember that he wasn't a helpless human anymore.

"Stiles, its two in the morning," Derek's croaky voice sounded on the other side of the line "I have to be up in three hours and I am not doing another fucking taco run for you because your insomnia is playing up again-"

"The spirit smashed something," he cut across him, earning himself a moment of silence followed by a deep sigh.

"Are you sure you weren't dreaming?"

"I think I can tell the difference between reality and non-reality," Stiles hissed in reply down the phone, hopping up on the kitchen stool and running a hand through his bed hair, screwing his face up at the horrible taste in his mouth and the dull ache behind his eyes.

"You've got a very active imagination-"

"Yes well right now I'm imagining kicking your furry little ass-"

"Okay!" Derek exclaimed, still croaky and slow "okay," he repeated "make sure your wards are all good and I'll be over in half-hour," he grumbled, pressing the red button and hanging up.

Stiles put the phone down on the counter top in front of him, rolling his eyes to the ceiling and rubbing at them some more, yawning loudly, eyelids droopy and weirdly sore. He darted his tongue out to wet his lips and swallowed heavily. Shit, there really was something not right here. He was completely fucking exhausted – not the usual kind of exhausted either, like full on woozy, thin blooded, manic kind of exhausted that combined a lethargic sensation (representative of being woken up at two in the fucking morning), and an irritated, uptight shiftiness (representative of having a fucking ghost trying to play with his head).

He dropped his head down on the marble surface in front of him, vowing to only rest his eyes for a little while until Derek arrived, but he must have blacked out or something because about an hour later he was being shook awake from the kitchen floor with a specific sharp stinging shooting up the right of his rib cage.

"Stiles," Derek was saying urgently, holding his lolling face in his hands "Stiles, what the fuck happened?"

"I- I think… shit, I think I was attacked or – or something. I don't know," he spoke, wincing as he tried to sit up some more, helped along mostly by Derek "I think it's fucking with my body. I don't know how, but I was really tired and when I woke up it was like everything was heightened. Help me stand," Stiles requested, wrapping an arm around Derek's shoulders and allowing him to thread an arm around his waist, hauling him upwards. Stiles put a hand on Derek's chest, indicating for him to pause for a moment because his world was spinning around him.

"You look like shit," Derek's voice was soft and frightened and Stiles drew in a deep, shaky breath, unable to disagree with him. It was true. Stiles felt incredibly spooked and unsettled – this was nothing like what he'd imagined dealing with a ghost would resemble "are you coming down with something?" he wondered out loud, pressing a warm hand to Stiles' forehead.

"I'm fine," Stiles dismissed, using Derek as a leaning post so he could slowly make his way back to the stool he'd been sat on "fuck, I don't remember anything that happened in the last hour. One minute I was sat here, the next you're shaking me awake like a fucking rag doll down by the fridge? Dude, this is sketching me out," he sighed.

"I'll call your supplier, tell him I'll go up there next weekend instead. We can get Deaton over here tomorrow morning and figure out what's going on properly-"

"No, dumbass. Whatever this thing is, it wants to mess with me and I'm not letting it. Look," Stiles breathed weakly, looking up at Derek from where he was sat "can we just go back to bed? You can get up at five and go to Missouri, and I'll get Scott and Deaton over here after I've had a lay in until at least eight," he proposed. Derek was reluctant. Whilst he wasn't sure it was a ghost, there was definitely something going on in Stiles' apartment, and he disliked leaving him when something wasn't right. But they really did need to re-stock the mountain ash supplies, and it wasn't like Stiles was a baby, he could handle himself. Also, he really did want to curl up in bed with his boyfriend and go back to sleep for a few hours, so the lure of Stiles' warmth and the promise of some more shut eye before he had to get going won out.

He blinked heavily, moving to stand between Stiles' legs and wrapping his arms around him, nuzzling his nose in his neck.

"Alright," he breathed groggily, a little bit intoxicated by the smell of his mate "but you've got to let me clean the blood off of you first-"

"It was dark, I didn't see the glass, it has nothing to do with my complete lack of spatial awareness and limb control," Stiles grumbled in response, drawing a small, wry chuckle from Derek that vibrated softly along their bodies. Derek reluctantly broke away, grabbing the wet wipes from the space next to the kettle and gently getting the blood off Stiles' foot and hands before helping him to the bedroom.

Stiles struggled for a few moments to push himself up the bed to the pillows, but by the time he'd managed it, Derek was undressed and crawling in beside him, gathering him against his body and wrapping himself against him. Alright, so it was fucked up that there was a ghost wondering around somewhere in the apartment with less-than-innocent intentions, but whatever, Derek was here which meant that whatever it was could wait until the morning.

* * *

"Stiles, do you smell ink?" Scott frowned when they were vegetating after that month's full moon at the Hale house. Scott wasn't due in at the vets today, and Stiles was taking a leave of absence from the baristas because of the fact that he had a fucking ghost following him around trying to ruin his life. Derek was on a grocery run, Isaac was upstairs taking a bath, and the remaining members of the pack were puppy piled in a giant congregation of blankets and pillows in the living room. They'd moved the sofas back against the walls a couple of days back in preparation for the time of month (the wolfy kind, not the human kind), and after setting up about a thousand duvets in a large square in front of the TV in the lounge, had gone running in the woods.

Stiles had been a little more agitated than usual this month, so he hadn't noted the time they'd gotten back – they'd simply all grumpily sludged in naked in the early hours of the morning, changed into their pjs, and curled up in a tangle of nine lots of limbs, passing out after a few minutes of squirming about trying to get the right positions. This was a new tradition that Stiles approved of very much if he was being honest – he was never too old or mature to have a forty eight hour cuddle session with his pups in his pyjamas.

They started to wake up around twelve the next day, and after an hour of arguing and squabbling about who was going to disturb the elaborate weaving of arms and legs to ring the Chinese, Lydia growled and climbed over everyone, deliberately digging her knee into Jackson's crotch to reach for the phone. She spoke perfectly and politely down the line to the takeout place in contrast to her little outburst, and she smiled sweetly and patronisingly at her boyfriend as she settled down beside him and watched him with a satisfied grin on her face as he cradled his balls with his hands and tried to recover through the pain.

"It's cold," Erica commented about five minutes later when Lydia had put the phone down and they were just putting on the pilot episode of F.R.I.E.N.D.S.

"We're literally surrounded by human radiators," Boyd frowned at her from where she was laid back against his chest and she tutted at her husband.

"Yes, I know that, I'm just saying, it's cold," she repeated herself in a frustrated voice.

"And I still smell ink," Scott added again, sitting forward like a puppy dog demanding everyone's attention – Stiles half expected him to reveal a wagging tail "and… old tobacco. Also burgers. But mostly ink, like pen ink," Scott sniffed heavily at the air before catching himself, and pouting at everyone's bemused expressions.

Stiles frowned and took the remote control off of an offended Lydia before he irritably shushed his betas, batting them down. He listened hard, focusing all of his senses on looking for something out of place. All he could hear were the breaths of his back, and Isaac's steady heartbeat from the bathtub upstairs.

Then he smelt the ink. He smelt to old tobacco, and he smelt the burgers. And something else, something that was inherently unique and separate from the scents of everyone else in the house. He couldn't put his finger on it, but it sent chills down his spine and raised the hairs on his back. Isaac shifted abruptly in the water upstairs, before the sounds of slipping were heard, and he was stood in the doorway within second, sopping wet, white towel wrapped around his waist, a panicked expression on his sculpted face.

"The temperature dropped really suddenly," he said with widened eyes, swallowing heavily as Stiles met his eyes. Then he looked down and his heart skipped a beat as his breath became visible in the air. Lydia instinctively moved in closer to Jackson and Boyd placed a hand on Erica's thigh over the blanket they were tangled in.

There was complete silence aside from the heavy, shaky breathing of the pack – not even a pin drop. It was like the birds in the area had stopped singing in the trees and the deer's in the reserve had frozen still.

Then something smashed upstairs, shooting like an electric shock through the whole house. All at the same time Isaac jumped violently and grasped the doorframe, his dislike of loud noises bringing harsh tears to his pale green eyes; Lydia screamed fast and short, her hand grabbing straight at Jackson's arm one side, and Stiles' on the other, Stiles gasped and furled his hand in the duvet around him and Boyd sat up fast, Erica's eyes shooting quick and sharp around the room.

There was another moment of petrified quiet, before Stiles pried Lydia's hand away from his arm, and peeled the sheet away from his legs, standing slowly, still sleep numbed and struggling to catch his balance. When he was steady on his feet, he slowly went to Isaac, taking his beta's face in his hands and moving his head to catch his line of terrified vision.

"Alright?" Stiles asked in a firm, barely there voice. Isaac stared at him for a moment, before finally blinking, nodding once. Stiles nodded back, pressed a quick kiss to his forehead, and turned back to the room, gesturing for the pack to slowly raise from their positions on the floor.

"Give Isaac a pair of pants and a t-shirt, I think mine are on the back of the sofa," he instructed in a whisper. Lydia responded first, breaking out of her fear and handing Isaac the garments. Stiles drew in a deep breath, gesturing for Scott to text Derek and let him know that something was in the house.

They made their way up the stairs slowly and wordlessly, bunched together, clutching each other, Stiles leading the way. Jackson was tightly clenching Stiles' old baseball bat. Boyd had somehow obtained the biggest knife in the kitchen, and was holding it with a look of determination that could only be representative of a gathering of shivering young adults potentially confronting a ghost at midday in the middle of autumn. No one would believe them now if they told them they were a collection of the most powerful creatures on the planet.

"What the fuck are you doing?" a bemused voice came from the bottom of the stairs and they all flinched furiously, whipping around and glaring at their older alpha who had two arms full of food shopping and was looking at them all impatiently as if they were all completely insane.

"One of these days-" Lydia growled as the pack forgot their original goal and began to file grumpily back down the stairs into the kitchen where Derek started to put the groceries away. Of course, he was never fully successful, as a bottle of soda would be taken fluidly out of his hand on the way to the fridge, and someone would steal a packet of Doritos before he could place the multi-pack in the bottom cupboard.

"Anyone want to tell me why you were all climbing the stairs like a bunch of airheads in a college horror film?"

"Stiles is still being haunted and the temperature dropped again. Can't you smell the sulphur?" Erica explained as she settled in Boyd's lap on the kitchen stool and rubbed her sleepy eyes tiredly.

Derek paused, sniffing the air for a few moments, before frowning deeply, putting the packet of ham in the fridge with the milk and sighing heavily.

"I'm calling Deaton," he spoke, immediately glaring at the automatic flaring of protesting shouts against it as he pulled his phone out of his back pocket "shut the fuck up. I am done dealing with this – it's too strange, Stiles is exhausted, you're all ridiculously spooked, and Deaton knows the most about this shit- hey! Deaton, we have a problem…" Derek left the room so he could talk properly to the resident expert in all things supernatural whilst Scott huffed, nudging under Stiles' arm and burying his nose in his neck, scenting.

"Hey buddy," Stiles said softly "I'm fine you know. It's not a big deal," his hand automatically came up to the back of Scott's neck, stroking through the hair there.

"Are you sure about that though?" Jackson asked, one eyebrow raised, his voice taking on that rare tone of careful concern as he gestured to the dark lines under Stiles' eyes and the thinness of his fingers. Stiles swallowed, feigning innocence as he shrugged nonchalantly, scoffing.

"Yes, I'm sure, I'm just a bit wired lately," he spoke in a rather unconvincing voice. Allison moved to stand on the other side of him, taking his free hand and covering it with both of her own.

"You're ice cold," she said gently, rubbing at his skin to create warmth through friction.

"Stiles, something is draining you, it's pretty damn obvious. It doesn't take a werewolf to figure that out," Lydia looked at him firmly, green eyes narrowed a little as Scott's arms went around his middle tightly.

"You're all worrying for no-"

"Deaton says you're dying," Derek came back into the room, eyes wide, lips parted slightly, phone still hanging numbly from his left hand.

" _What_?" Stiles exclaimed "bullshit, I'm not dying. This is fucking ridiculous, he doesn't even know all the details!"

"I've been cataloguing them all week," Derek said, blinking once "every time we have an incident like this with the temperature and the sulphur, you get more and more tired. We practically had to carry you back from the woods last night after the run. Its – Deaton says it's an elemental spirit drawing on your magical energy to get its foothold here," he spoke, but there was a broken quality to it that stung Stiles' tear ducts "it's killing you Stiles," Derek repeated "it's draining the life out of you"

* * *

"I still don't understand why you thought this was a good idea, or how the hell I wound up agreeing to this," Derek huffed as Lydia pulled up finally in Jackson's shiny black SUV, the two of them being the final members of the pack to turn up to their impromptu camping trip "its fucking freezing"

"Oh stop whining and help me with the tent," Stiles replied, rolling his eyes.

"He's just been looking for an excuse to wear his new winter clothes," Scott said as he dropped a bunch of heavy looking firewood in a dip in one of the rocks and crouched, beginning to try and light it "and its super annoying that we don't breathe fire you know"

"Scott, we're werewolves, not dragons," Erica snorted, fondly smoothing her hand over the back of her pack mate's neck when she walked past him to get to her and Boyd's Range Rover in search of the cooler containing their beer.

"Oh shut up okay," Stiles retorted with a look of mild annoyance "you all love camping and the fact that it gives us an excuse to look hot in winter gear," he added, wincing a little when he moved to try and lift the large box from the boot of his jeep containing all the blankets and bedding.

It was true really, winter/camping gear really did suit them.

Allison had bought thick, tight black leggings covered by black leather hunting boots. On her top she wore a demowoman jacket sky mission. It was a smooth, blue, asymmetric and minimalistic, complete with a removable hood, closing by metallic snap buttons and zipped pockets along with a lightening effect on surface when stretched. It was a fucking beautiful piece of fashion and it looked as though it had been made specifically so that Allison could wear it for the good of the damn universe.

Lydia wore thick, thigh high woollen tights held up by suspenders that disappeared under what she'd informed him was a midnight lion-print, silk crepe de chine smock dress, finished by a black leather fur collar biker jacket and black smart western ankle boots, her fiery red hair loose and curly as ever.

Erica wore a slim-fitting jacket with a khaki cotton body, soft black leather sleeves and collar trim, fitted with a thin camo under layer and zipped cuffs. On her legs she simply wore tight blue skinny jeans and dark brown winter boots.

Isaac was wearing his usual funnel necked, black woollen pea coat and looked his normally epically beautiful self in slim fit jeans and black leather boots, his sharp cheekbones reddened by the cold.

Derek's wardrobe never changed, apart from the fact that he now wore thick woollen gloves with his usual leather jacket, dark green tee, and dark skinny jeans and sneakers. Scott wore a red plaid lumberjack coat with faux sheep fur lining and a button fastening. He also wore slim fit jeans and black converses.

Jackson had invested in a kaki green, quilted jacket that looked both warm and extremely expensive, along with leather gloves, dark blue jeans, and Nike high tops. Boyd was wrapped in a navy coloured, waxed, two tone parka jacket; simple and convenient, but not completely plain.

Stiles on the other hand, was very much enjoying the new opportunity for winter simplicity that seemed to effortlessly suit him, and outfitted a dark blue, long sleeved thermal top under a hooded, grey padded gilet with his usual red chinos and sneakers.

All in all, for a group of mostly werewolves on top of a rocky cliff overlooking their hometown in 52 degrees Fahrenheit weather whilst Stiles was supposed to be on the verge of death, they were extremely attractive young people. The death thing sort of put a downer on things though, and it had been bumming Stiles out all week. So, after finally losing his patience with all the horribly painful chemo signals everyone had been giving off, he'd yelled at them all to be ready in twenty four hours for a weekend camping trip on the cliffs, no arguments.

There had been arguments of course, but he'd literally silenced them all with a spell until they'd finished packing and loading the cars. Now he was very much enjoying that for the first time in around six days, everyone had given up trying to fight him and baby him, and were now throwing themselves into the little adventure, despite the fact that he'd taken their voices away beforehand.

"It's not even winter, its autumn," Derek huffed, taking the crate of bedding off of Stiles, ignoring the glare he received, and walking back over to the tent the two of them would be sharing, slipping it inside.

"Beer!" Stiles exclaimed, his attention diverted when Erica came back out from behind the Range Rover with a cooler of refreshments. He ran over to where she placed it near the fire, opening it and cracking open a bottle eagerly, needing alcohol if he was going to continue ignoring the weak feeling in his limps and the way his vision kept blurring in and out of focus, his head occasionally going dangerously fuzzy and light. As far as he was concerned, the pack did not need to know how worried he was for his own wellbeing – tonight was for fun and family, it was not for everyone to sit around with sad faces like 'let's all mourn Stiles before he is even actually confirmed to actually be dying from a soul sucking ghost haunting him'.

The sky quickly turned from garish autumn white to dark inky blue, the stars becoming visible amongst the crescent moon. Part of Stiles' idea to bring them all up here was so that they'd all be close to it – lunar proximity usually worked to calm them all, and the nearer they were to its light, the less the lot of them seemed to worry. They settled around the fire Scott had finally managed to get going, drinking, eating marshmellows, and bantering, Isaac sometimes play fighting with Erica and Jackson as they got a little rowdy now and again.

This was what Stiles missed the most when he'd been at uni. Being sat alongside the very earth that fuelled his wolf and his power, wrapped up between Derek's legs, surrounded by the people he loved most, the people who had always been there and never given up on him.

And for one terrifying, heart wrenching moment, he thought about what it would be like for them if he really did die. He was their second alpha, their go to for comfort and laughter. He loved them all like his own, his best friends, his children, his link to life and survival. He was a part of the pack on an elemental level that existed beyond all of their understanding – they all were. Every single one of them were part of a magical ebb that held the world together for them all. Any one of them being ripped away from that body and soul, any one of them dying, would damage it all beyond full repair.

He couldn't leave them again, he just couldn't. They would all lose their minds. At least for a little while anyway. He'd like to think that Derek would be able to pull them all back together – that was if the dude survived at all himself, Stiles was his mate. He'd read horrible, gruesome, vomit worthy stories about werewolves whose mates had passed away. It did irreparable breakage to the mental state, the literal equivalent of losing a limb.

But then he realised that he was probably giving off vibes reeking of fear and sadness, and instead focused on the feeling of Derek's warmth against his back and his chin resting on Stiles' shoulder. He focused on Scott's cheeky grin as Allison recalled the time he'd gotten drunk on beer laced with wolfsbane and ended up singing Gangnam style on the roof of the argents half naked. Stiles laughed and winced at the memory of how loud Chris had yelled at them all, trying to keep his smile wide as he reached out sideways and took Erica's free hand in his own in what he hoped was a subtle way.

She glanced briefly sideways at him, but didn't ask him about it, and simply squeezed softly before pressing a kiss to Boyd's cheek as Jackson began telling them about his trip to London the previous year, and how he'd managed to wake up curled up on top of the statue in Trafalgar square, literally stark naked and clutching a British football to his chest. Stiles remembered getting the call from half way across the world and the snappy, asshole voice on the other end of the line demanding to be bailed out of jail for 'indecent exposure'. Stiles had called one of his British druid friends, and got them to go and rescue Jackson from the clutches of the English jail system.

And Stiles thought, as he stared deeply into the embers, if he really had to die – which objectively was bullshit because it was only a damn ghost and he already had several ideas lined up on how to banish the damn thing – he'd be okay with it, if this was his last night, he would be alright.

* * *

It was quiet. Not silent, because Derek could hear the arrhythmic lightness of Stiles' fast typing and the slow beat of his heart; but it was quiet. He could smell the anxiety on him however, and taste it almost like a bitter, metallic consistency on his tongue. It hurt like hell in Derek's chest, but he remained on his side of the bed, facing the wall, keeping his breathing steady so as not to alert Stiles of his state of awake, simply thinking idly.

Research was keeping his mate sane right now, giving him the sensation that he was doing something, that he wasn't completely powerless.

The ghost was dormant for the moment, Deaton had found a spell for Stiles to perform that had somehow temporarily blocked its access to his power, but Derek was worried. Really fucking worried actually. They were running out of time, and whilst Stiles had stopped the spirit from draining his energy, he wasn't gaining any of it back either. He'd basically been stationary for the past week, although he could still walk slightly and could keep himself upright in the shower.

During the day, Derek helped him downstairs, and he sat on the sofa typing away, talking to his contacts in different part of the world through webcam, trying to get an idea of how to find out who exactly the ghost was, and how to either communicate with it safely, or banish it all together without killing anyone.

"Ah! Bonnie! Thank fuck, I thought you'd be asleep," Derek heard Stiles half-whisper at his computer screen through the darkness, and his ears perked up to hear their witch friend talking on the other side of the link.

"I get up at 5am every morning for a run, it's the only way I deal with the excess energy I've had since the whole 'other side collapsing' thing. Stiles, why do you look like you should be laying in a coffin at a wake?" she demanded, not trying in the slightest to keep her voice down as it vibrated through the microphone.

"Right," Stiles sighed tiredly "about that. I'm being haunted by an elemental spirit that's sucking the energy from my body to gain a foothold in this world. I was wondering if you could help me figure out who it is," he said, still keeping his voice down for Derek's sake, but not so much now he was properly paying attention.

"Stiles!" Bonnie exclaimed in outrage "why didn't you tell me? You asshole!" she scolded loudly.

"Sorry," Stiles said simply, clearly not at all sorry "I'm trying to stop everyone from worrying at the moment. But that won't mean anything if I actually die," he explained, his voice solid and even and fast.

"Well next time you need to tell me – wait, you said it's an elemental spirit?"

"Yeah Deaton says that's why it has to use my elemental magic to get its grip here"

"That's true," she confirmed "but elemental spirits are usually the result of a violent, unexpected death that causes a lot of devastation. People who are important to the community that are brutally assassinated usually end up like that. I think I had a bit of trouble with the ghost of Joan of Arc a couple of years ago, she was a bitch to get rid of. It's not easy Stiles, and it's very dangerous"

"C'mon Bon Bon," he replied, feigning mirth "you know me, danger is my middle name"

"No, it's Derek's middle name," she said sternly and Derek smirked to himself, rolling his eyes a little despite the situation "I'm learning that all my best friends have a habit of getting involved with extremely dangerous people"

"Yes well, regardless of my danger magnet life partner that you frequently remind me you don't approve of, can we get back to discussing my looming death?"

"Stiles this isn't funny," she sighed, sounding more and more upset with every sentence.

"I know that Bonnie," Stiles said, almost snapping, his voice suddenly serious "I know it's not fucking funny, I might have to leave them all behind again. They already have abandonment issues because of me. You know Scott still can't even look at me sometimes?" he spoke a little louder now, clearly losing his patience, and Derek had to swallow a lump of emotion in his throat at the truth of Stiles' words, the truth that the pack had never really voiced since Stiles' return from university "but I'm doing my best here"

"I know," she breathed, her voice cracking slightly "I know…. Okay," she said, suddenly sounding more business-like, gathering her wits about her "so elemental spirits give off a lot of raw, residual chemosignals – smells, emotions that transfer to the people they're haunting. Have you been documenting what you can smell and feel every time the spirit makes an appearance?" she asked, and the bed shifted slightly as Stiles moved to get a little more comfy.

"Yes," he replied "Scott mentioned a couple of times that he could smell ink and old tobacco, Jackson said that he could smell burger grease, Isaac says he's even heard a gunshot once or twice, like the kind of ghosty echo of one"

"Alright," she said "so try and put it all together. Do all these smells and senses sound familiar to you?"

"Yes!" he said "but it's… it's difficult to place because it's like… it's like there's this block. It's on the tip of my tongue, I know it is, like I know who it is, but I don't because it hasn't fallen into place yet"

"Think of people you associate with ink, tobacco, burgers, and gunshots," she said "keep thinking about that and I'll look through all my old notes, see what I can remember about what I did before and I'll call you tomorrow. Stiles?" she said, with a small tone of finality "you'll let me know if you get any worse, won't you?"

"Yeah," he said softly "I really am sorry for not telling you"

"You can make it up to me once this is over"

And Derek heard the noise of the video call being ended, and the sound of Stiles sinking further against the headboard, radiating exhaustion and stress.

* * *

"What's going on?" Melissa exclaimed as Derek came crashing through the double doors of the hospital, coatless and drenched in rain, the liquid percolating through his blue Henley, an unconscious Stiles cradled against his chest.

Melissa liked to think that she knew Derek Hale quite well after all these years of her son being in his pack, and dealing with the horrible dangerous dumbass monsters that seemed to always want to take up residence in their home town – but she didn't think that she'd ever seen the alpha look quite as panicked and broken as he looked as she gestured for him to bring Stiles to one of the rooms, calling for a doctor.

"I don't know," Derek said desperately, shaking his head, hazel green eyes terrified and heart-wrenchingly young "I just couldn't wake him up. He was fine when we went to sleep-"

"Has anything happened to him in the last week? Any unnatural symptoms"

"He – fuck – he keeps breaking out in cold shivers and he wouldn't tell me yesterday but he was sending of these intense pain chemosignals," he managed as he put him down on the bed. Melissa checked Stiles' vitals, flinching at how cold his skin was and wincing at how fast and shakily his chest moved as it rose and fell in tiny, helpless, weak gasps for air.

"Alright," she said firmly to Derek, that bone chilling panic setting in her bones as she registered the gravity of the situation "it's okay. We can stabilise him for now. He's mildly hypothermic and severely fatigued. I'm going to hook him up to an IV whilst the Doctor gets here. Derek," she said, moving for a small moment to take his stubbled face in her soft hands "he'll be okay"

* * *

"So I have a question," Stiles croaked from where his head was settled on the pillow "when I left, did you have a song?"

God he looked so small. So fucking small. And so pale. The shadows beneath his eyes were darker than ever and his lips were raw and chapped, his skin white and blotchy. The veins along his wrists were terrifyingly visible, and the IV attached to his right arm was only adding to his overall sickly demeanour. Underneath his own rib cage, Derek could physically feel his heart breaking slowly as he watched his boyfriend deteriorate further by the day. It was even more mind shattering because he honestly never thought he'd have to do this again. He never thought he'd have to sit at Stiles' bedside and watch him waste away. It just seemed to be happening way too frequently of late.

"What sort of stupid question is that?" Derek sighed, face pressed against Stiles' hand which he was holding up to the side of his face, elbows resting on the mattress next to his body.

"A valid one, seeing as I'm not exactly going anywhere right now," he replied, blinking through red rimmed eyelids, drawing in deep, slow breaths. For now, he was stable. But that wasn't very comforting "c'mon sourwolf," he teased ailingly, and Derek had to swallow a tight, choking lump of emotion in his throat " _I_ had a song. I want to know what yours was"

"You are my sunshine," Derek said blandly, trying to get off the subject as quickly as possible. He regretted it immediately however, as Stiles' eyes widened slightly and filled with tears, a deep expression of shocked sadness and guilt spreading over his features.

" _Fuck_ ," he breathed "fuck. Holy shit. Der-"

"Its fine," Derek shook his head.

"It's not though," Stiles whimpered slightly, tongue darting out to wet his mouth "it's not okay. All the time I swear I'm imagining these new scenarios of you by yourself after I left and I feel like shit"

"It's not important right now Stiles," he said firmly, holding his hand tighter "it's in the past. We lost some time, it was painful and traumatic, but I'm a grown ass man dammit," he insisted, pressing a kiss to the back of his hand "I can handle it. I'm going to be even more pissed off if you let this thing right now beat you," he spoke in a solid, yet slightly desperate voice, looking him right in the eyes "if you die, I will literally go out of my freaking mind"

Stiles didn't blink, but the tears spilled over his eyes and dripped unceremoniously down his cadaverously gaunt cheekbones. Derek drew in a deep, shaky breath, standing from his chair and slowly moving Stiles over on the bed, shifting in beside him and wrapping the younger werewolf in his arms, careful not to jolt the wire attached to his arm.

Derek would not sleep tonight, his superhuman hearing attuned committedly and unwaveringly to the bleeping of Stiles' heart monitor. The newly appointed Sheriff Jordan Parrish had gone out minutes previous to collect coffee, and would be back soon to take his place beside them in the chair Derek had just moved from – but for now, the way Stiles' pulse slowed and his feeble limbs visibly relaxed against him, was an illusion of momentary safety.

Things were hanging by a lethargically fraying thread, and unless they figured out what the hell was draining on his life force, Stiles would be dead by the end of the week.

* * *

"Derek!" he had a split seconds warning before a small, slender body slammed against him and arms wrapped around his neck, and he got a face full of glossy dark curls "oh my god I'm so sorry," she breathed desperately when he gathered himself and wrapped his own arms around her waist in turn "I'm so sorry. I got here as soon as I could, but the quickest flight was seven hours," her soft, dark hands bunched gently in the hair at the back of his head as she held him tighter, somehow knowing that he was breaking, and that he pretty much just needed a hug.

He had a strange relationship with Bonnie Bennet. She didn't approve of him for Stiles because of his attitude, which was fine because there were a lot of people that didn't like his burly and introverted demeanour – but at the same time, they sort of loved each other. Bonnie had been instrumental so many times over the years, and she'd helped the pack even when Stiles had been at university, despite the fact that she lived seven hours away on the plane, and two days away in a car. She always managed to find a way to be here if they needed her.

So whilst he sometimes mismatched with the young brunette because their spunky personalities clashed, he cared for her deeply and appreciated her strength and compassion. He was extremely grateful that she'd taken his short, quiet phone call letting her know that Stiles was in hospital, as an understanding that she was needed in California with them at the moment.

"Hey Bee, how much do you wanna bet that I can make the receptionist drop her clipboard within the first couple of seconds of talking to her? Oh hey big guy"

Derek inwardly groaned, grimacing as he lowered his line of vision from the floor, to the irritatingly beautiful crystal blue eyes of Damon fucking Salvatore. Bonnie finally pulled away slowly, keeping one arm around Derek as she turned to look at the vampire.

"You bought  _him_  into a hospital full of innocent people?" Derek said, although his voice was void of malice as he raised his eyebrows.

"Your lack of faith in me hurts my soul, Hale," Damon pouted tragically, placing one hand over his chest. Derek snorted.

"You're a 180 year old vampire, you don't have a soul," he retorted. But a moment later, when they finally met each other's eyes, the vampire's expression changed, and a moment of truth passed between them, before Damon stepped forward, letting out a deep sigh and pulling Derek into a tight, one armed hug.

"I'm sorry buddy," he said "dying significant other; sucks, right?"

"We're going to help him Derek," Bonnie insisted firmly the moment Damon pulled away "we won't let him die on us"

* * *

Wires. Everywhere the fucking wires. It used to be a big thing, when the pack were dealing with something that required hacking. His living room would be covered in wires of varying thickness and length, all connected to random devices that looked both intimidating and highly important. Isaac, Danny (after they'd told him about all their bullshit), and Stiles would be dashing about typing so fast sometimes that there was smoke coming off keyboards, and his electric bill would be as high as the tech half of his pack on caffeine.

But this was indescribable. A whole different kind of stress.

Derek hadn't slept in a week, and when he had dosed, it had been for mere minutes, and he felt as though his tears were constantly tracked on the skin of his face, the facts of the situation sitting in his bones, tearing apart his muscles, choking in his throat and stinging harshly in his eyes.

And the wires. Jesus fucking Christ the wires. A different wire for each different drip. Two wires in Stiles' nose to keep him breathing, two wires in each of his forearms for basic fluids, a wire in his leg feeding copious amounts of morphine into his nervous system as his organs failed him and his super healing counted for absolutely fucking nothing. Two wires monitoring his brain activity trying to determine the parts of his body causing the overall problem.

Beneath the blanket tucked around his ghostly bale body and the hospital robe, he was bordering on skeletal, his cheekbones more hollow than ever, deep dark shadows around his sore eyelids, lips almost blue. He looked as though he was already dead.

And all that was going through Derek's head, were all those times on birthdays and at winter, with Christmas lights reflecting in his amber brown eyes, and the flash of red in them every time he got an idea that could make everything ten times better, or possibly worse depending on the situation. And with those memories, came floods of others – running down corridors and white hallways with effulgent hot panic pulsing through him, breath fast, eyes stinging with warm tears, anger conflagrant in his gut. The images of Stiles knelt in front of Lydia with dried blood on his wrists, and later on, Stiles' dried blood on Derek's helpless fingertips.

But he'd always been  _alive_. He'd always been animated and snarky and  _real_. He was the most real person Derek had ever known.

Looking at him now, Derek would never know.


	11. Klaus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So we're finally here, final chapter. I just have to say a huge thank you to everyone for such wonderful support and constructive criticism; this was my first multi-chapter work for Teen Wolf, and I didn't really know what I was doing when I first started this, but you all made it so much easier, and I've come out of it a better writer and with a better understanding of these characters. There's a big time jump with some of these scenes, but I tried to make it as long as possible; I didn't want to rush the ending, and I wanted closure. I'm quite emotional, as I always am when I finish a big project, be it a novel or a fanfiction, but I've really loved writing this story, and I hope that you've enjoyed reading it just as much.

“We are not now that strength which in old days

Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are;

One equal temper of heroic hearts,

Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will

To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.”

* * *

“Derek Hale,” a chillingly familiar British accent sounded as Derek walked slowly, carefully into the dark clearing of trees. Around them, it was still raining, comforting and grounding on his skin. Derek was wrapped in his old leather jacket, collar turned up against the weather, face neutral and controlled. He could feel his anger blowing up a hurricane beneath his ribcage, building slowly, barely contained. His fingertips tingled with the repressed urge to elongate his claws and he was powerless to control the secondary growl rumbling in his throat with every breath he drew in.

“You’re looking peaky, and not at all as attractive as you usually do. Is something wrong?”

Klaus knew the risk of returning to this town. Hybrid or not, even he would have a hard time fighting an entire pack of furious werewolves with solidly established bonds and territory. But the rest of them didn’t know that Derek had come out to meet him here; they just thought he’d gone for a run to shake off some of his despair.

“Cut the crap Klaus,” a feminine accent sounded from the shrubbery to the left of them, and Bonnie stepped out of the shadows, the moonlight streaming through the trees and illuminating her dark skin. Her hair was much longer than it had been the last time that she and Derek had worked together, brunette and curly, although slightly knotty in the wind, the strands catching each other in the faint rain. She stood with her hands in the pockets of her denim jacket, a dark purple tank top on underneath with jeans and small healed ankle boots. Her eyes were focussed on the hybrid between them, and they were lit up with hatred and power, the kind of spark that Derek had only ever seen in Stiles’ features.

“Hello, love,” Klaus raised his eyebrows at her, his red mouth curling into a predatory grin, his eyes crinkling and filling with blood, his sharp fangs glinting against the limited effulgence of the night, almost preening.

“Stiles is ill,” she spoke, her syllables harsh and clear “you’re going to lend us some of your power so I can make him better again”

“Oh really?” he replied, chuckling crisp and cutting and eerily light in the air “I don’t remember agreeing to that”

“That’s because I wasn’t asking,” she half-growled, and Derek felt a deep satisfaction when Klaus’ face contorted with agony, small croaks of pain escaping his lips as he dropped almost mechanically to his knees, clutching at his head under Bonnie’s spell. Damon stepped out now from the right of the forest, famous raptorial smirk curving his mouth, crystal blue eyes sparkling voraciously as he quirked his right eyebrow and tilted his head to the side, watching almost ravenously at his age old adversary gnarling and coughing on the muddy ground.

“Now, now, BonBon,” Damon drawled, meeting eyes with his witch “we need him conscious if we want to save Stilinski”

“Derek,” Bonnie nodded regally, and he moved forward, grabbing Klaus by the collar and yanking him up to full height “I can’t hold him for very long, his healing powers are too strong,” she said urgently, and Damon immediately took over, speeding off with the hybrid towards the hospital.

“Come on,” Derek breathed, taking Bonnie by the hand and breaking into a run, half tempted to throw her on his back and make quicker work of the forest. They weren’t that far away from the main road and his car however, and they managed to get to it in just under five minutes.

“Right,” she said, her voice slightly shaky as she started up the engine and turned on the headlights “now for the tricky part” 

* * *

 

“You’ve got an hour,” Jordan Parrish said, a look of understanding in his eyes, met with a slightly awkward posture at the inconvenience the situation caused him as he squeezed Derek’s shoulder and left the room, shutting the door quietly behind him before taking up guard outside.

“Alright,” Bonnie said firmly “this magic doesn’t need runes or sigils – it requires raw power. It will drain you all and hurt like hell, but you can’t break the circle, or we all die,” she instructed.

The last part of the clue had clicked in Derek’s mind when they’d been speeding along the highway back towards the hospital from the woods – ink, old tobacco, burger grease, gun shots. Sheriff John Stilinski.

That was why the whole pack, including the human members, along with Klaus, Damon, and Bonnie, were all stood around Stiles’ bed, John Stilinski’s battered old badge placed over Stiles’ heart. The sheer anxiety radiating from them all was almost overwhelming, but it was equally tenfolded with a new wave of determination and a final rush of intense hope that overrided anything else. This was good. This would save them all.

“Hands,” Bonnie instructed again, and immediately all eleven of them joined palms, Klaus looking very pissed off, but participating nonetheless. Damon’s sharp fangs were glinting in the low light of the room and all werewolves had their own fangs and claws out, ready to draw on both their human energy, and that of the wolf. This could either mean that they got Stiles back, or that Parrish would walk into the room an hour later to find twelve dead bodies scattered around the floor.

“It seems clichéd,” she sighed “but you need to be calm as possible. Deep breaths in and out, bones steady and thoughts focussed”

Immediately Derek heard fast beating hearts slowing into a rhythmic beat. A monotone of pulses thrumming in time with each other, ready to save one of the people they loved most in the world.

“Close your eyes,” she breathed, and silence fell as darkness surrounded them.

* * *

 

_It was damp. Stiles wasn’t sure how a dream could be damp, but that’s what it was. Damp, stygian, and… drippy. Somewhere water was dripping, and the faint taste of metallic on his tongue along with the bitter rusty smell wafting through his nasal passages told him that there was blood as well. A lot of blood._

_He wanted to reach out, to use something to ground him. But when he opened his eyes, it was all he could do to stay upright. His body felt wrong, sort of… intangible. And the breath was too steady in his lungs, too slow and controlled._

_What seemed like moments later, he managed to put one foot forward, expecting to collapse immediately. Instead, he simply moved as though in a trance, his limps almost disconnected from his brain. Ahead of him, there was nothing but a dark corridor, thin and narrow and daunting. Slowly, his emotions came back to him and his breath began to hitch in his throat, confusion and fear settling hebetudinously in his stomach. His lissom fingers began to shake slightly and he half gasped as the frore temperature registered with his skin, goosebumps raising on his spine as he continued to put one foot in front of the other._

_A breeze brushed over the back of his neck and his muscles froze, eyes widening before, all of a sudden, he was confronted with the overwhelming smell of ink, burger grease and old tobacco. The scents that used to comfort him now brought him a cold, thrilling fear and an enormous amount of repressed guilt. He could have stopped it. It was his fault._

_“I’m sorry,” the broken voice tumbled helplessly from his chapped lips, the entirety of the past five years aching in his gut, crushing his ribs, falling like fragmented shards of glass from his mouth. Then his legs finally gave in, the nausea returning, the familiar weightlessness of strengthless limps and thinned blood. Sobs didn’t whimper from his throat, they retched terribly, dry and diminished and drenched with pain. Only this time, warm hands gripped his arms and caught him, lessening the blow to his knees as he landed on harsh, unforgiving concrete, the tenebrosity around him deafening. His system went into shock when the hands were replaced with strong, older arms wrapping around him, the wonted ambience of the embrace like being dipped in boiling hot water head first with his eyes wide open; and then there was no holding it in._

_He screamed louder than he ever thought possible, shouting and crying and gripping so tightly to those arms that he should have been drawing blood. He howled and yelled until his throat felt as though it would split open from the inside out. Yet still, those arms held him, and a voice he’d ached for whispered comforting words in his ear, the chest he clung to muscled but softened from one too many biscuits, the way it had always been._

_“Its okay son,” it said softly “it’s alright, it wasn’t your fault – shhhhh. It wasn’t your fault. You have got to forgive yourself,” his sobs slowed into deep, quiet gasps of air as his entire body shook with each contortion “you have got to move on properly. You’re keeping me here and its not fair on anyone,” John Stilinski’s voice resonated everywhere in reticent, soothing waves, gently calming Stiles’ keening._

_“I’m sorry,” Stiles breathed once more against his father’s shoulder, everything sore and hypersensitive._

* * *

 

Bonnie growled low in her throat, determinedly gripping tighter to the slacking grip of the werewolves stood either side of her as Stiles’ body convulsed terribly on the bed in front of them, short, sickening choking noises gargling in his pale throat. It was a good job they’d detached the heart monitor before they’d started, otherwise they’d have the full force of the Beacon Hills Hospital medical faculty rushing into the room.

“Vita mortem damnum dolor, terra aqua ignis aeris potestas, magia solum sol calor. Vivicabit, attrahendam eum ad nos. Vita mortem damnum dolor, apud autem potestas in eum atque in autem admodum halitus autem autem terra, vivicabit attrahendam eum ad nos”

Her voice grew stronger, yet more strained with every word and every repeat of the spell, the breath in her lungs growing more powerful, the blood in her veins rushing and pushing her magic further, the sheer force of power dragging from the circle through her body alone, was almost overwhelming. But she would not stop now, not even when Stiles’ eyelids snapped open, entire eye that stunning black and golden colour, the magic now beginning to run through him, forcing him rigid and croaking for breath, possessed.

* * *

 

_“Your friends are trying to save you Stiles,” John said delicately as he pulled back and took his son’s broken, pale face in his hands “they’re trying to save you. Right now they’re stood around your bed trying to bring you back, and when you do wake up,” he paused at Stiles’ surprised expression “yeah, of course you’re going to wake up, dumbass. You think I’d just let you die? When you do wake up, you have to let go”_

_Stiles’ eyes were full of tears again, but there was no sobbing or uncontrollable break down – there was only a quiet fragility to it. For a moment, Stiles looked sixteen again._

_“I-” he broke off, the words catching for a second on his tongue “I don’t want to let go,” he choked “you’re my dad”_

_“Yeah,” John grinned “I am. And I want you to live, and I want to be at peace. I want to be with your mother Stiles,” he breathed “it’s cold down here and I need you to find yourself again”_

_“Have I seriously been keeping you down here for all of this time?”_

_“You haven’t been meaning to,” John pointed out “but you were my unfinished business, so I couldn’t… jesus its corny – I couldn’t ‘move on’, so to speak. Do you see what I mean Stiles?” John asked, looking him straight in the eyes “do you understand?”_

_“I- I think so,” Stiles nodded, pursing his lips together and swallowing heavily as a tear dripped finally down his gaunt cheekbone._

_“Okay,” he smiled, his face shining with pride and compassion – the kind of love so powerful that it could pull Stiles beyond the veil and force him to do what was really needed._

_“But… how?” Stiles asked, lost and hurting like hell – wow, heaven and hell references really weren’t needed at that point in time._

_“Close your eyes,” John replied gently “imagine that you’re in a dream,” he spoke as Stiles’ red rimmed eyelids fluttered closed and his breath shook, his hands quivering violently, gripping those of his father’s “I love you Stiles,” he whispered and rough lips pressed to his forehead._

_“I can’t,” Stiles whimpered, shaking his head, his eyes still tightly squeezed shut._

_“Oh shut up, yes you can; you’re a Stilinski,” John scolded gently “take a deep breath and just… let go”_

_Stiles felt unimaginable pain panging in every crevice of his enervated body and it vibrated in his chest and throbbed in his heart, burning his lungs. But, with tremoring limbs and pathetic, tiny little sobs, he found the thing inside of him that he’d been unknowingly holding onto since the untimely and unfair death of his father. He allowed it to consume him one last time, before, abruptly, it simply floated away from him in nothing but a small gust of wind._

_And then, once more, there was darkness._

* * *

 

“He’s stabilising,” Bonnie’s voice came from behind Scott and he flinched slightly, before relaxing and nodding once, feeling her sit down on the arm of the chair he was settled in. His own arm went around her waist, pulling her in close, and she leaned into him sideways, allowing him all the comfort she could offer.

The pack were in various states of exhaustion in the lobby, strewn about across the waiting room chairs, some of them snoring, some of them wide awake and quietly, morosely sipping coffee that may as well just be pure caffeine. The nurses simply left them there, seeing more than ever that this group of people would not be moved – and more importantly, a group of young adults that were shaken to the core by such an extreme threat to the life of one of their best friends. Melissa brought them all food every other hour and made sure they weren’t hurting themselves, napping in such awkward bodily positions.

“I know,” Scott breathed “I know. It’s just… he still looks so small. It sort of seems like all I’ve done in the past year or two is sit by his bedside and wait for him to come out of comas. Are you sure he’s back?”

“Yes,” she spoke softly “I did a magical diagnostics check – he was hovering in another dimension for a while, then something changed, and the elemental spirit wasn’t fighting us anymore. It just… left. And then he started to stabilise. Your mom said so,” she grinned, pressing a kiss to the top of his head “he should be awake in a day or two”

“Have you talked to Derek?”

“No,” she sighed “he’s still out for the count; Damon is watching him to make sure he doesn’t leave his bed. The guy needs to sleep, he’s been awake for just under five days straight, and that was before we did the spell,” she informed. Scott nodded once more in acceptance of it, but said nothing else, simply closing his eyes against her, his free hand clutching that of his best friend where it lay limp on the side of the hospital bed.

It might possibly be one of the longest days of his life.

* * *

 

“Will you leave me alone? Jesus fucking christ, I was in a coma for exhaustion, not a damn broken spine,” Stiles growled as Derek made to help him out of the Camero. He earned himself a glare, but was allowed to stand slowly upwards by himself nonetheless. Derek settled instead for taking the hospital suitcase out of the boot and locking the car. Stiles leant against the door for a few moments to catch his breath and bearings, before he pushed off of it and winced a little at the way his back clicked and his vision swayed.

Before Derek could berate him however, Stiles was walking back up towards the Hale house, tightly gripping the wooden railings of the porch to climb the stairs. His body was still tremendously weak, although his wolf powers combined with his magic, were regenerating his energy for him much faster than if he’d been solely human. In the days after waking up, Stiles had slowly gained back the ability to move properly, and to speak. Since then, he’d been snappy, frustrated, and moody. He was slightly less so with their betas, but irritable still when they tried to help him shower or walk.

The mood had persisted now he’d finally been allowed out of hospital, and Derek, although determined not to let Stiles shut the world out, was not exactly having the best time of his life trying to keep the idiot off his feet.

“I made sure everyone was out so that you could come home to quiet, get used to being out of hospital before you had a bunch of pups trying to scent you again,” Derek spoke curtly, a little pissed off as he opened the door for Stiles and closed it behind them, setting the suitcase down.

Stiles simply nodded once and went straight to the living room, sitting on the sofa and leaning his head back against it, closing his eyes and breathing in deep the smell of friends and pack and Jackson – the fucker – who had been eating spicy chicken wings in the lounge again when he knew that it stunk the freaking house out.

Derek waited a few moments, before following his mate, wordlessly seating himself down closely beside him, tipping his own head back and feeling, for the first time, the extent of his sleep deprivation from the previous month and a half.

“I hate this,” Stiles’ voice was strained and quiet, barely a whisper as he hung his head, playing with his hands in his lap and breathing slowly, deeply. His thin fingers shook slightly and Derek looked down sideways at those pale hands, covered in beauty spots and scars from before he’d been turned.

“I know the feeling,” Derek replied with a small, tired snort of exasperation.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles spoke again, shaking his head, discreetly biting down on his bottom lip, swallowing “this was – god, I can’t even blame myself anymore because that’s where I was going wrong beforehand. I should have dealt with this a long time ago,” he managed to articulate, still not bringing his head up. Derek sighed, sliding his hand sideways and lacing their fingers together. That was better, it looked right now. Tan, hairy hands on pale, spindly ones. The way that it was supposed to be.

“No more comas for at least ten years, okay?” Derek said softly, lacking the energy to be angry or annoyed with his mate for ending up in harm’s way all over again. He let go of Stiles’ hand, pulling his head to his shoulder and pressing a kiss to the top of his scalp, drawing his body against him. Stiles closed in on himself, getting as close to Derek’s form as he possibly could. Derek realised then that the shaking was more down to cold than to psychological issues. He held him tighter, emitting as much body heat as he could.

“Wait,” Stiles said a moment later “do I still have my job?”

“Jimmy said it’s open as long as you need it. They aren’t that busy at the moment either. And I talked to your publisher-”

“Does talking mean growling until he stopped trying to get you to explain everything properly with actual coherent sentences?” Stiles remarked, smirking. Derek huffed, pouting a little.

“No,” he replied unconvincingly “he’s working with your publicist and agent to shift things around. They want you to release a small statement on your social networks in a couple of days once we’ve come up with a story for why you’ve been in hospital,” he explained and Stiles nodded, sighing.

“I hate releasing statements, the fans always pull it apart too much and I’m pretty sure that there are actually a few readers convinced that I’m a werewolf”

“Maybe you should make your next book something a little further away from the whole YA thing then,” Derek suggested, frowning. He had always been a little nervous and overprotective of the secrets of their species. It was a lot to handle for people who hadn’t been introduced into the whole ‘mythical and fictional creatures are actually real and very dangerous’ thing gradually.

“Is that another jab at the fact that I’m refusing to tell you all what the new book is about?” Stiles teased, and Derek simply narrowed his eyes and stared moodily at the blank television “well I’m tired and I haven’t had sex in two weeks so I want to sleep in our bed for a few hours, fuck you until neither of us can move, and then we can get a giant take out with the pups and binge watch friends on Netflix,” he proposed, slowly unravelling himself from Derek weakly.

“Stiles,” Derek said, his cheeks a little flushed all of a sudden “Melissa said not until you’re better-”

“Derek,” he replied, mirroring his tone as he stood up “I really don’t give a shit right now. If I want to fuck my boyfriend, then I will, okay? Now _please_ move, I need a human sized pillow if I’m going to get some shut eye on an actual proper bed for once”

* * *

 

“We let him go,” Scott said nervously, shifting from one foot to the other, pulling on the long sleeves of his cotton pullover, chewing on his tongue, and looking pretty much anywhere but at Stiles. Bonnie was perched up on one of their cargo boxes, arms either side of her, keeping her upright. Damon stood close, arms crossed over his chest, a mildly amused expression on his face, as per usual. Erica was beside Stiles where he was sat, her new obsession with re-scenting him after his hospital debacle meaning that she was never more than a few inches away from him at any one time. He had put his foot down about night time though, her and Isaac’s clinginess had not been allowed anywhere near his and Derek’s bedroom past eleven o’clock in the evening.

Allison was leant against the wall to the left of Scott with Lydia against her side, playing with the rings on one of Allison’s hands. Jackson was in Missouri visiting one of his adoptive parent’s family friends, so Lydia was taking the chance to rekindle her slightly drifted dynamic with the pack’s resident archer. Boyd was working, unable to get out of his shift for the pack meeting, and Isaac was beside Derek to Stiles’ left, hands in his pockets, looking forlorn.

“Right,” Stiles said slightly blandly, unsure as to how he was supposed to be reacting to this “where was he when I woke up in hospital?” he asked, his brain short circuiting as it desperately attempted to process the information. They had allowed Klaus to escape again, let him run after using him to bring Stiles back. He didn’t understand what he was really supposed to say.

“Damon had him on a tight leash,” Isaac spoke, glancing from Stiles to Scott, to their present vampire, an unreadable look possessing his features.

“Yeah right, hottie mchottieson over there is a total badass, but Klaus is an original hybrid, even a precious Salvator brother would have a hard time keeping him in one place against his will,” Stiles remarked, deciding that he wasn’t as angry as he probably should be.

“I resent that statement you little runt,” Damon retorted although there was little malice behind his words “respect your elders”

Stiles snorted. Damon playfully displayed his fangs and Stiles retaliated with growling low in his throat, flashing his canines and blinking his red pupils. Damon rolled his eyes and Bonnie nudged Damon, hissing at them to stop acting like three year olds.

“I had him locked in a container with a blocking spell,” she explained, and for the first time, Stiles noticed the dark lines under her eyes. The magic she’d been using for them in the past few weeks including keeping Klaus in one place and getting Stiles to an alternate dimension so that he could help his father’s spirit pass on, had drawn on her strength immensely. He hadn’t really talked to her properly since he’d left hospital, not entirely sure how he could ever thank her enough.

“Hell yeah,” he grinned, winking at her “you see this is why we need a witch. Witches get shit done”

“Stiles,” Derek sighed “ _you’re_ a witch”

“Yeah but Bonnie is better,” he tutted as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“And prettier,” she added, also smiling. It was a sight for sore eyes to be honest, Stiles hadn’t seen that smile in a very long time.

“I don’t know about that,” Damon replied, smirking as he eyed Stiles up and down. Derek started growling, which only made the vampire grin even wider, wiggling his eyebrows at the two alphas. He winced and pouted however, when Bonnie forcefully flicked him on the forehead to get him to behave.

“Back to the fact that we let the all-powerful hybrid that murdered your father escape without holding him so that you could slash his throat,” Lydia pitched in, flashing a smile when Scott glared at her, guiltily taking a step towards his best friend.

“We’re super sorry,” he said “it’s just that-”

“Christ you guys seriously think I’d want you to keep someone hostage so I could murder them?” Stiles interrupted, a slightly bemused, betrayed expression on his still mildly exhausted face “what sort of monster do you think I am?”

“No, that’s not what he means-”

“That’s exactly what he means,” Damon cut across Isaac, shifting so that his opposite leg was entangled with his right one now, leaning more against the container that Bonnie was sat on “wolves are instinctual,” he said “they experience bloodlust in the same sort of way that vampires do. Especially for the people who have severely wronged them,” he explained, earning angry looks from almost everyone in their pack “they assumed that you would want to kill Klaus as revenge for your father because it’s what you are,” he continued “it’s in your _nature_ ”

“We are nothing like you,” Scott growled, narrowing his eyes.

“Keep telling yourself that pup,” he remarked “if it helps you sleep at night”

Scott made towards Damon, his eyes flashing yellow. Stiles moved straight from his seat, a hand on Scott’s chest, stalling him.

“C’mon Scotty,” he said softly “it’s alright, I’m not angry. I’m just confused and surprised. It’s a lot for me to take in, but I’m not pissed at you- hey!” he tapped the side of Scott’s face to get his attention, wrapping his arms around him tightly and feeling his body relax substantially as his arms instinctively threaded around him in turn “you guys just misunderstood my intentions with Klaus, that’s all,” he soothed, his hand on the back of Scott’s head, feeling his beta nuzzling his nose against his neck “I don’t think I really knew what I wanted to happen anyway. I _might_ have wanted to kill him, you never know. I _did_ want to kill him, a long time ago,” Stiles pulled back a little, taking his brother’s face in his hands, meeting his eyes affectionately with a small smile, watching the frown crease his brow “but not anymore. I don’t want to sink to his level anymore. And I would never ask you guys to make that possible for me either, I’d be a pretty shitty alpha if I did”

“Awh,” Damon cooed sarcastically “that’s the most adorable thing I’ve seen all week. Bon Bon why aren’t we that adorable?” he asked her.

“Because you’re an idiot who says things like that,” she replied with a sigh and he pouted, feigning offense.

“How long are you guys staying for?” Stiles asked, throwing his arm over Scott’s shoulder and pulling him into his side, turning back to Bonnie and Damon again.

“Just a couple more days,” she said “then I’ll be fit to travel again”

“You wanna do pack night with us tonight?” Stiles offered, a half smile of hope “there will be popcorn and trashy movies”

“Add a bottle of bourbon in, freckles, and you’ve got yourself a deal,” Damon said. Bonnie rolled her eyes yet again, but nodded in agreement. Stiles simply raised an eyebrow in reply.

* * *

 

Stiles had been in self-enforced solitude for three days now. And he was _loving_ it. It had been a really long time since he’d been able to get some secluded head space. As much as he enjoyed spending time with the pack, he still had some extreme issues with the whole ‘werewolf mage’ thing. He had long accepted that it was who he was – he had even embraced it. But even after around five years of trying to learn his own strength, he was still scared of how far his body could take him. More so how far it could take others.

So that was why he’d turned down Derek’s offer to move into the Hale house. He liked having his own space to come home to, he liked being able to do strange, stupid, goofy things around his home at three in the morning, he liked feeling independent and young. But most of all, he liked having somewhere he could drop off the grid for a little while, watch too much television by himself, get some serious writing done, eat a whole box of cereal in one sitting, make trips to the corner shop for cookie dough after midnight.

Which was exactly what he’d been doing for the past seventy two hours. As of right now, he was perched on his kitchen counter top in his boxer briefs trying to explain to his publicist that there was no way he could have called her to let her know of his medical condition, since he had been in a coma.

“Stiles,” she spoke sharply “god help me if you make one more werewolf pun I will definitely cancel all of your possible public appearances for the next five months”

“Oh come on Angie, I’m so much better now. I’ve totally got a bit of colour back in my already ghostly white cheeks. Derek would have called you if I’d died or something-”

“You were _dying_?” she yelled and he winced, taking the phone away from his ear a little as he ate from the giant bag of Doritos between his thighs “Stiles! If you’d have died I- oh my god I can’t believe you were dying and you didn’t tell me!”

“Relax Angie, there was no point in releasing a press statement telling my small portion of fans that I was dying, when I turned out to be just fine. I swear, I am fine. Fit as the proverbial fiddle”

“You think that I’m mad because of the press side of it?” she choked, her voice cracking, suddenly really grabbing his attention “Stiles you – you really think I care about you so little that media coverage is more of an issue than your health and wellbeing?”

“Well… yeah,” he frowned “isn’t that what PR is about? No strings attached, right?”

“Fuck you,” she cursed “I don’t care if you pay me, fuck you. Stiles we’ve been working together for nearly three years now, you haven’t caught on to the fact that I actually consider us friends?”

There was a silence for a moment where he was sort of paused mid chew, thinking about the situation properly before he remembered he had mushy dorito in his mouth, and swallowed, blinking a few times and letting out a deep breath.

“Okay,” he nodded “alright, I’m sorry Ange, I know, I’ve been an idiot. I just – I wanted to minimise the causalities because I already have a family full of emotionally damaged young adults dependent on my ‘health and wellbeing’. I guess I probably didn’t want to put you through what they were going through as well. It – it wasn’t pretty”

“I don’t want to hear about it right now, Stiles,” she sighed into the phone, and he heard her typing out something on the other end of the line; probably some sort of strongly worded letter to Darren Criss’ PR team telling them that they weren’t handling the recent Mia situation very well, and that she should take over. No doubt she was right. Angie was the best in the business, fantastic at her job and one of the very few people in public relations that actually had a moral compass “I’ll send you the requests from your agent tomorrow, and you can pitch Tom your new manuscript in a month or two. We’ll go from there”

“We’re okay though, right? Me and you, we’re on good terms?”

“Just call me next time, okay?” she said, continuing to type, ruffling through papers now and again, and most likely sucking on the pen she carried everywhere with her “if you want me to work for you, you have to be completely honest with me”

“Put it in the contract,” he replied “love you, Ange”

“Whatever. Get some rest”

Then she hung up. He wasn’t too worried though, there was a begrudging affection to her tone that let him know she wouldn’t hold the grudge. Plus, he was actually really looking forward to showing Tom the first draft for his newest book; he felt like it was some of the best work he’d ever done, and whilst it would be at least another year before he could get it out onto the shelves, he was proud of it.

* * *

 

He started running again the following week. He woke up on the Monday at the ass crack of dawn, barely with it, but feeling stronger and further into recovery than he had since he’d checked himself out of hospital.

He changed straight into something stretchy and latex-y, strapped his phone to his bicep, filled a bottle of water, and ran straight up to the reserve. He went for a good twenty miles before he stopped, hunched over against a tree, coughing his guts up, but revelling in the almost euphoric burning in the back of his legs, and the mass amounts of sweat leaking through his t-shirt. He realised just a little too late that he’d pushed himself a bit far, and just managed to catch himself and navigate his jelly legs so that he ended up on his butt, back against the tree, knees bent up whilst he tried to get his breath back.

“Are you enjoying the show?” he panted, raising an eyebrow and lifting his head enough to meet Derek’s eyes where the dickwad was leant casually against a nearby tree, arms crossed over his chest, smirking.

“I’m enjoying the fact that I can say ‘I told you so’,” he replied, tilting his head to the side.

“Boyfriend of the year award goes to…. anyone but Derek Hale,” Stiles remarked breathlessly, catching the extra bottle of water Derek threw at him, gulping half of it down in one, pouring the rest of it over his head, already feeling his wolf trying to heal the strain and regulate his heartbeat.

“Don’t be a bitch, it’s not attractive,” Derek said “and neither is your martyr complex”

“Do you _ever_ stop worrying about me?”

“Stiles, you’re a walking talking disaster; I’ll stop worrying about you when the world stops,” Derek chuckled, rolling his eyes, shaking his head, and pushing off of the tree, uncrossing his arms and holding out a hand. Stiles smiled exhaustedly, slapping his hand to Derek’s and allowing him to yank him back to his feet, grinning even wider when Derek wrinkled his nose in distaste.

“Sniff it up, wolf boy; the whole point of this life partner thing is that you have to want to make out with me even when I’m dripping in my own bodily fluids,” he insisted, sliding his arms around Derek’s neck and leaning in to kiss him, his whole body relaxing straight into it as though it was a second nature.

Stiles honestly didn’t think he would ever get bored of kissing Derek Hale. He wouldn’t ever get bored of the cute little bursts of breath that came from his nose, and his strong, steady arms encircling his waist and their bodies slotting together, and the coffee taste in his mouth, on his unfairly talented tongue. He would never tire of the tickle of stubble and the smell of earth and cologne and the clothes wash Derek used on his laundry. He would never, ever lose enthusiasm for the soft moans that only he could really elicit, and swallow softly, lost in the warmth and familiarity, and never-ending underlying thrill in his veins that came from being so intimate with somebody so guarded.

“You stink,” Derek said quietly, voice croaky as Stiles broke the kiss, pressing their foreheads together, still grinning “seriously, you fucking honk, Stiles. It’s disgusting”

“Thank you, honey,” he snorted “I love it when you talk dirty to me”

Derek finally tutted, placing his hand between Stiles’ pectoral muscles and shoving him away lightly, rolling his eyes again and placing his hands back in the pockets of his jeans. Stiles continued to smile and remained close, reaching out a hand to grab Derek by the belt buckle.

“I have a suggestion,” he said, growing even more smirky at the hint of arousal on the air “how about I use your shower. You can show me how to turn it on”

“You know how to turn my shower on Stiles, you’ve used it hundreds of times- oomph!”

Stiles cut him off by kissing him again, more chastely this time, before nipping playfully at the tip of his nose.

“Lead the way, oh mighty alpha,” Stiles snapped, turning him around and pushing him slightly back in the direction of the Hale house, slapping his ass shamelessly, enjoying Derek’s little surprised yelp and tut of amusement when Stiles padded after him, jumping onto his back and burying his face affectionately in his neck. Derek sighed and carried on, arms stabilising Stiles’ legs either side of his hips and walking at normal speed back through the woods, continuing to complain about the bad smell the whole trek back.

* * *

 

“I’ll call you from the airport before and after I get on the plane, and I’ll skype you tomorrow afternoon in between the press release and-”

Stiles was cut off when Dacia, who was sat on Derek’s hip, placed a single tiny finger against his mouth and creased her brow at him.

“Daddy, shut up,” she said, pouting.

“Yes, daddy, shut up and go before you miss your flight,” Derek said, trying not to laugh at the dead serious expression on their daughter’s face, imitating her demanding tone of voice.

“Don’t forget that she’s not allowed to wear her pink dress if she’s painting, only her old Mulan t-shirt. And don’t let her talk you into giving her a sick day just because it’s the full moon tomorrow, she’s a lot better at controlling her transformation than you think and-”

“Stiles, honestly, I’ll call Angie if you don’t bugger off. I’ve got this sorted, I know our daughter,” Derek cut him off this time, tutting and dragging Stiles forward by the tie, kissing him. Dacia made high pitched noises of disgust, causing Derek to laugh against Stiles’ mouth. Stiles whined and swallowed heavily, wrapping his arms around them both and pressing a hard, lingering kiss to Dacia’s temple, his hand cradling the back of her head over her mass of curly dark hair.

“I’m gonna miss you guys so much,” Stiles said, his voice cracking slightly. Derek forced himself to remain composed, reminding himself that he should be used to this by now.

“We’ll miss you too, but you’ll be back in a few weeks. We’re going to keep busy, aren’t we?” Derek said, nudging his nose against Dacia’s as she giggled slightly and nodded enthusiastically. Stiles moved away and lifted his suitcase easily.

“Pack night tomorrow,” Dacia clapped her hands together excitedly, scrunching up her face, her brown eyes sparkling “Erica’s gonna make cookies and teach me how to make Isaac scream like a little boy”

“Tell the pups I’m sorry I’m away for the full moon,” Stiles said finally with another deep sigh, although he plastered a big grin on for Dacia’s benefit, kissing her on the cheek again and placing his hand against Derek’s cheek softly for a moment, before leaving the room. Dacia managed to keep quiet for all of a few seconds before Derek sat them down on one of the stools around the kitchen island, and she buried her face in his neck, letting out a small, pitiful sob, her little arms curling around him.

“Daddy be back soon,” she mumbled wetly near his ear. He rubbed her back gently and ignored the way her little claws were digging unintentionally into the back of his neck.

“Yeah, sweetie,” he said quietly, swallowing the lump in his throat and hugging her to him a little tighter “daddy will be back soon”

* * *

 

Erica smiled as she watched Derek sleeping where Boyd was curled up against his side and Jackson’s head rested in his lap whilst he played angry birds on his phone. The idiot was exhausted, but it was definitely the good kind of exhausted – the kind of fatigue that came from the joys of being a father.

Dacia was sat with her face resting against Erica’s chest, the fifth re-run of frozen playing on the television. Allison was sat in front of them on the floor, painting Dacia’s toenails at her highest request, nibbling her bottom lip in concentration, a couple of dark curls falling over her pale, defined cheekbones. Lydia was curled up in the armchair with Isaac, subconsciously playing with his curls whilst he tickled Scott and Allison’s little boy, Cooper, who had also managed to wriggle his way into the armchair with them. Scott was at work with Deaton, but would be home within the hour so that they could set up for the full moon, which, as it always was without Stiles, would be brutal.

In the years before the kids had been born, the full moons had gotten a lot easier, even with Stiles away on book tours or at conventions. But when Coop had come along, the kid had immediately recognised both of his alphas, and had developed a particular attachment to Stiles. When he’d first started shifting, at the age of one, Stiles had been out of state doing a shoot for GQ. Coop had screamed his little lungs raw, and cut up anyone who had tried to comfort him with his unpredictable little werewolf claws. It had been even worse after Dacia had started transforming, although she’d definitely been getting better at it now that they were working on her inherited ADHD with her.

“Erica?” Dacia asked without moving or lifting her head “how old am I this year?”

“You’ll be five in three weeks, honey,” she replied, looking down at her “why?”

“I want a dress like Elsa’s for my birthday,” she said softly, and Erica knew she was trying to take her mind off of the fact that the full moon jitters were starting, and that her heartbeat had been escalating slowly over the past two hours “and a reindeer”

“Well I don’t know about the reindeer,” Allison said with a small grin, continuing to paint her nails “but I think we can figure something out with the dress”

“Don’t let Papa make it though,” she said, glancing over at Derek where he was still snoring slightly “he doesn’t even know how to dress himself properly”

Lydia snorted and Jackson made a non-committal noise of agreement, holding his fist out in the air without taking his eyes of the screen of his phone. Dacia giggled guiltily and held out her fist too, air bumping it with her uncle Jackson’s as was their ‘thing’.

“I wonder who put that idea in your head,” Erica chuckled, booping her nose with the tip of her finger.

“Daddy told me,” Dacia confessed, still smiling mischievously “he says papa should be arrested for crimes against fashion sometimes”

“It’s a good job that your papa isn’t awake and can’t hear this then, isn’t it?” Isaac said, and Cooper nodded seriously.

“Der bear would not be happy with Uncle Stiles,” he insisted as he clambered off of Lydia’s legs and ducked under his mother’s arm to sit in the dip of her crossed legs, watching her as she finished off with the nail varnish.

“Will my claws be pink as well?” Dacia asked curiously, and Erica sat up a little straighter, adjusting Dacia slightly.

“Why don’t you try it out and see?” she suggested. Dacia tensed for a moment, looking slightly frightened, but Cooper moved again to sit beside her, taking one of her smaller hands in his own tiny ones.

“It’s okay, love,” Lydia encouraged, nodding at her “you can do it”

Dacia closed her eyes and burrowed back against Erica slightly, her little hands shaking slightly as she tried to breathe through her nose. Cooper continued to hold her hand, a small grin breaking out on his face as her claws elongated and the pink stretched out over them, remaining flawless and pretty. Allison grinned in unison with her son and admired her handiwork, and Derek jerked awake when everybody started clapping and congratulating her.

“WhudImiss?” he snorted, blinking heavily through squinted eyelids as he made to sit up.

“Dacia shifted without losing control,” Erica said in an overenthusiastic voice. Immediately, Derek’s face lit up with a smile and he moved to crouch in front of his daughter, taking her face in his hands, still sleepy, eyes glittering with pride.

“Well done sweetie,” he told her, kissing her between the brows and pulling her in tight for a hug “I’m so proud of you. Maybe we can video it for Papa later on?”

“Does this mean I’ll be okay tonight?” she asked against him hopefully. He sighed deeply and moved back again, her tiny fingers curling around his.

“The moon will be out, honey,” he said softly “it’s much more difficult to control the shift when the full moon is out. We’re going to be with you the whole time though, and Cooper will be tied up as well. We’re going to work on finding your anchor again”

“I’m afraid, daddy,” she sniffed, pouting, furrowing her brow “I don’t wanna hurt anyone”

“We wont let you, love,” he told her “and even if you do; we’re big scary werewolves and we can handle a bit of rough and tumble,” he grinned, tickling her tummy, causing her to squeal loudly. Cooper also let out a loud war cry and swung himself onto Derek’s back, his little arms curling around his neck, barely fitting around the whole circumference as Dacia continued to giggle at the top of her lungs. In the end, Lydia called time on their impromptu wrestling match in which Derek got his ass kicked by a four year old and a three year old.

“I’m calling in a Chinese before the moon comes out and you lot will want to eat the takeout guy rather than the food he brings, anybody want in?”

* * *

 

Dacia sighed heavily and carefully sat herself down cross-legged on the grass in front of her elusive Grandad’s grave, set beside that of her long-deceased Nan. It was a sweltering hot summer’s day, the birds were singing and the flowers were all in full bloom, the smell of nature thick and comforting in the air. It always was for her; the powers she’d inherited from her hybrid father preening as the earth sang under the beating of the sun, flowing quietly and peacefully through her veins.

It was her seventeenth birthday. She was tired, having been up all night camping with the pack, eating far too many Cheetos, and listening to the laughter of the now middle aged adults around her. Honestly, they were lucky that their wolf slowed down their aging; never had she seen such a frustratingly youthful, agile, and good-looking group of 40 year olds.

“Hey guys,” she said softly, smiling to herself and pulling the grass up, playing it between her fingers, feeling it tickle her bare legs “it’s my birthday today,” she told them “eighteen next year. Pretty scary really, but Erica says it’s the big 21 that’s the scariest. They’re all busy preparing for tonight’s surprise party that they think I don’t know about”

She pressed her palm out flat on the grass and closed her eyes, letting the sun caress her skin, breathing in deeply and whispering an incantation crisply, the sounds escaping in an almost soundless mantra through her lips and teeth. When she opened her eyes again, there was a winding of tulips winding themselves slowly and animatedly around the gravestones without obscuring the names etched deeply.

“Things are going well with Coop,” she spoke with a more private smile now, her dark curls falling around her face “papa has a bit of issues with the whole protective thing, but dad reminds him that Coop is Ali and Scotty’s kid, and also part of the pack and family, and he usually shuts up. I think I love him,” Dacia said “Cooper, that is,” she added “I think… well, dad thinks I’m too young to know who my mate is, but papa keeps telling me that it’s okay because he and dad were only young when they knew they were soulmates so…”

She trailed off for a second, a painfully sad expression flitting over her narrow, beautiful features, wetting her mauve lips and swallowing.

“I think dad misses you more the older he gets, you know,” she spoke, a frown creasing her brow “more now I’m growing up. I know he really wanted you to know me. _I_ want you to know me. He tells me about you all the time,” she told them “all about Nan and how she was always trying new projects. He showed me her art the other day when we were cleaning out Isaac’s basement; it was beautiful”

There was a silence that hurt her chest, an absence of reply that had her drawing in a shaky breath and blinking away stinging wetness in her eyes.

“I’m clever,” she said a moment later, when she felt like she could talk again “Lydia’s been tutoring me since I was little, so that’s a given. But I’m really intelligent. Dad suggested college the other day, when I’m ready. Papa gets this weird guilty look on his face when we talk about it, but he still nods and smiles about it. I asked Cassie about it yesterday – she’s visiting for my birthday – and she said it’s because Papa went to college straight after he and dad broke up when they were young. She told me it was one of the worst times of both of their lives. But dad seems on-board. I think it’s just papa, he’s always had a problem with forgiving himself, even when other people forgave him a long time ago”

“I have issues controlling my shift still though,” she said frustratedly “I can’t help it sometimes. My anchor is my best friend Maisie, but Deaton says it’s my magic that reacts awkwardly with my heightened emotions. We’re working to make it better though. I think I’ll go to college when I’ve got it sorted properly. I want Maisie to come with me, and I think she’s seriously considering it as well. I just-” the breath hitched in the back of her throat “no,” she told herself forcefully “it’s my birthday, I refuse to be sad. I just came up here to get away from all the chaos for a while. Everyone is living in the house at the moment, and its definitely big enough, its just that it gets overwhelming sometimes. Papa tells me about the Hales that lived there before us, and his family. There’s something about that plot of land,” she told them “Papa says that the earth there holds energy that’s preserved from the fire. Dad says he feels it sometimes too; but papa told me last week that the house is more reactive because the pack is like a new era of Hales. Then he got all emotional and awkward and shifty to try and hide it; it was very cute”

A squirrel darted across the cemetery a couple of rows in front and she smiled, shuffling closer to the graves and closing her eyes again, focusing hard and calming herself, breathing deeply, opening that window, that connection that she’d discovered when she was just nine years old and accidentally stumbled into the basement of the Hale house, coming face to face with a half-formed apparition of Talia Hale, her other nan.

There was a soft breeze that blew over her face, a blanket of ambience that washed over her and there was something so warm and gentle and familiar about it, that it seemed to be smiling at her, comforting her, reassuring her. When she opened her eyes for the second time, everything looked the same, but she knew they were there, with her, watching her.

“I love you,” she said, swallowing again, getting slightly choked up as she stood slowly back to full height, looking all around her now “I never knew any of you, but I love you. And thanks,” she grinned, a peaceful expression relaxing her face “for giving me the best family I could ever have hoped for”

She bent to tie the laces of her high top converses, the summer breeze blowing her open plaid shirt slightly, and when she stood back up, she paused for a moment longer, her hands dropping into the pockets of her denim shorts, nibbling her bottom lip. Then she smiled a final time, and turned, walking away, the sun shining on her as she went.


End file.
